#point is Tyler gets to become a leader a business man and a family man in the years that followe
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give us your thoughts on how Tyler's life turns out!!
this turned into a mix of multiple headcanons and thoughts I’m so sorry for this word vomit lol!
I like Tyler leaving Mystic Falls post season 6. However, he goes out and finds more Lockwoods and werewolves. I don’t believe there’s just three people in his family. He meets his grandparents who explain why the werewolf lineage was kept secret and that brings him to his birth mother and that side of the family! (Sorry, can’t ignore how Tyler doesn’t look like his parents..)
I think werewolves would be more in southern states where it’s easier to hide and spread out from others. Tyler spends a year or two with grandparents and meets other werewolves in Tennessee. The following year there he becomes an alpha and leads other packs in the southern states. I don’t see Tyler a fan of real politics the way he is supernatural wise. But, I can see him finishing a degree in business and opening up rec centers in hopes to keep untriggered and triggered werewolves busy and help them manage those traits. (I can see Tyler expanding this as a brand around the world maybe..) Tyler would also want to be a mentor to other wolves! He knows what it’s like to go unguided with this. (I don’t see him working at the Boarding School.) He’d even love to be there with someone as they shift to help them through the pain. Tyler would enjoy bonding with others through his wolf form.
Romance and family wise. I’d love to see Tyler explore a relationship with a werewolf. Someone who gets what it’s like to be a wolf. Someone he can shift with! I remember thibking Hayley was going to be that person once lol! If not then I’d love to see Tyler and Bonnie reconnect outside of Mystic Falls a few years down the line. (They can have little witch-werewolf babies…) If that isn’t an option I’d like to see Forwood, I’d want there to be an apology and understanding on Caroline’s end on how she hurt Tyler. Maybe even allow Caroline to become human again to be with Tyler longterm. (The wolves wouldn’t take Caroline serious as Tyler’s partner as a vampire..or they could work something out there. ) Tyler’s packs come together to throw him a huge wolf styled wedding. I see Tyler being a father to at least two-three kids. He was so willing to learn about his legacy in season 2. He’d want to make sure his line doesn’t die and that someone else can pass on the werewolf gene in a positive way!
Okay this was a lot I’m sorry but i can’t accept Tyler dying young!
#tyler lockwood#i know these are a little sloppy my apologies!#dria responds#point is Tyler gets to become a leader a business man and a family man in the years that followe#tonnie#forwood#if you squint.#caroline Forbes#Bonnie bennett#chaahateinn
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If you still have the square open, fingore for Tarlos? I looked it up and the definition made me all cringy lol because I am a giant wuss, so I was thinking maybe threat of fingore (or actual fingore if you want to go for it because you are clearly made of cooler and tougher stuff than me ;) ), something with Carlos hostage on a case and the bad guys want him to give up some information? Or Carlos is protecting TK somehow and won't tell them where he is?
holly's august extravaganza day 8: we'll hold each other soon
unfortunately the square had already been taken when this came through but i hope you like what i came up with! thanks for the prompt! tied into chapters five and eleven from the breeze in my austin nights
ao3 | 2.1k | angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, torture, carlos briefly thinks tk is dead but he's not
Carlos had known this would happen. He’s known for weeks; he’s felt the suspicion in the gang growing, sensed his cover crumbling bit by bit. It’s been especially bad since his run-in with Paul and Marjan, but that was really just the final straw.
Things with this mission have been going sideways for a long time. He’d reported it to his supervisors, of course he had, but all they’d said was that the case was too important to give up just because of one man’s feeling.
He wishes he could take satisfaction in being proved right.
Unfortunately, him being right means nothing to his supervisors. For Carlos, it means getting dragged out of his temporary apartment in the early hours of the morning and taken, blindfolded and gagged, to a remote corner of town, probably unknown to everyone outside of the gang.
Carlos doesn’t struggle as he’s shoved into a chair and chained by the feet, his hands and torso bound to the wood with a rough rope that rubs his skin painfully. By the low mutters and footsteps echoing around the room, it’s clear there’s more than just one or two of the gang holding him, so he figures that fighting will only make things worse for him.
Once he’s sufficiently tied up, the blindfold is yanked from his eyes and the gag removed. Carlos gratefully sucks in a few deep breaths, blinking hard as his vision adjusts to the harsh fluorescent lighting in the room. There are six men surrounding him and Carlos recognises one as the gang leader, Manese. Another, Daniels, is holding a crowbar, and all of them are armed with at least one gun, probably more.
Carlos, meanwhile, is lucky he’s wearing socks.
Thank god for draughty apartments.
Manese steps forward, his hard stare betraying little emotion. “I’m gonna cut the bullshit, Reyes,” he says. “We know who you are, we know you’ve been passing information to other cops, and we know you’re probably not doing it alone.
“So, you’ve got two choices. Either you make it easy for us and we’ll make it easy for you—I’d say I’d let you live, but you and I both know I can’t do that. But I will leave a body to bury. Or, you make it difficult and we’ll return the favour. And, believe me, we can make things very, very difficult for you.” He grins and spreads his hands out, tipping them in a mimic of a set of scales. “This only ends one way for you, Reyes. All you gotta do is decide how fast you want to get there.”
The look Manese sends him lets Carlos know that he already knows exactly what decision he’s going to make, and that he’s going to enjoy it. Carlos sighs and closes his eyes, briefly hanging his head. He spares a thought for his family back in Austin—his parents, TK—and prays that, whatever happens, they’ll at least be able to get some closure.
Then, he steels himself and looks Manese dead in the eyes. “Do what you want. I’m not telling you anything.”
Manese’s grin takes on a shark-like quality, and Carlos has to force himself not to react to the way he leers at him. “Excellent choice.” He flicks his hand and Daniels steps forward, a manic look in his eye as he flexes his grip around the crowbar.
Carlos barely has a moment to prepare himself before all he knows is pain.
*
He screams as the crowbar comes down for what feels like the hundredth time, eliciting a sickening crack as his arm breaks. Carlos’s vision white out and he folds in on himself as much as he can, his left arm straining to cradle his right, but all he achieves is the already abused skin becoming more raw and sore. He breathes heavily, blinking rapidly as the room slowly swims into view once more. Daniels looks bored, the crowbar swinging loosely in his grasp, and Manese seems to be running out of patience.
“Got your memory back yet, Reyes?” he asks tersely.
Carlos just shakes his head and braces himself for the next hit.
Which doesn’t come.
And doesn’t come.
And doesn’t come.
Carlos squints up at them, frowning when he sees Manese with a hand on Daniels’ arm as he studies him closely. The calculating glint in his eye sends a flash of dread through Carlos; nothing good can possibly come of this.
“Go for his fingers next,” he orders after a while, releasing Daniels. “I don’t care how—break them, shoot them, crush them, whatever—just get me answers.” He turns to Carlos and tuts, sighing heavily in mock regret. “This is your own fault, Reyes. All this can be over like that”—he snaps his fingers—“if you just give me what I want. A couple names, a location or two, that’s all I’m asking. Not much, right?”
Carlos stubbornly stays silent—at this point, he’s not sure he has enough breath left to speak even if he wanted to—and Manese sighs again.
“Your funeral.” He shrugs and steps back to give Daniels room, but before anything can happen, one of the others in the room rushes forward to whisper something to Manese. Carlos can’t hear what’s being said and he’s too exhausted to try; all he can feel is relief for the brief reprieve. His arm is screaming at him, the pain in the rest of his body paling in comparison, and he’s not sure how much longer he can stand it.
The hushed mutters continue for another minute, until eventually Manese nods sharply and four of the six men in the room file out. He smiles at Carlos, sickly sweet, and claps his hands together once, rubbing them for good measure. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, Reyes,” he says, with a lazy drawl that can’t mean anything good. “Business calls.”
Carlos doesn’t have time to comprehend what that means before Manese and Daniels are also leaving, flipping them lights off as they go.
And Carlos is left alone.
*
Time means nothing as Carlos waits for someone to return and finish what they started. The only thing he’s certain of is that something must have changed to get Manese to halt his torture, and it probably isn’t a very good something.
Not for Carlos, at least.
He thinks about trying to escape, but even slight movements are so painful that he fears he might throw up or pass out or, more likely, both. Besides, even if he did manage to get out of the bonds on his arms and torso, there would still be the chains on his feet to deal with, and Carlos knows there’s more of a chance of rescue than him dealing with those on his own, especially with a broken arm.
His mind is left to wander, and he keeps circling back to one point that seems to solidify itself more with each second that passes.
He’s not getting out of here.
A fresh wave of pain—not physical, this time—washes through him, and his whole chest aches as he thinks of TK. He’d been so worried for Carlos ever since they found out about the case, and he’d begged him to stay safe the morning he’d left just over three months ago.
“Be careful, please,” TK said, smoothing down the lapels of Carlos’s shirt. “Whatever happens out there, whatever you have to do, just promise me one thing. Promise you’ll come back to me.”
Carlos knew better than to promise something like that, and TK knew better than to ask it. But because it was him, and because it was TK, Carlos just nodded and leaned in to press a kiss to TK’s temple.
“I promise,” he whispered, pulling away. TK didn’t let him go far before dragging him into a real kiss. It felt like it lasted forever, only to seem far too short when they broke apart, still clinging to one another. Carlos allowed himself another minute in TK’s embrace, then forced himself to move away, giving his boyfriend one last smile.
TK returned it with a smile of his own, and Carlos carried it with him long after the door swung closed between them.
It’s the last good memory Carlos has, and he’s going to hold onto it for as long as he has left. If he’s going to die, then the last thing he wants to see is TK’s smile, even if it is just in his mind.
*
Carlos is nearly blinded when the lights suddenly turn back on, revealing Manese and two other gang members standing in front of him. He only vaguely recognises these two—it’s possible he could dredge up some names if he thought about it for long enough, but his attention is locked on Manese, who looks far too pleased with himself, in the same way a predator must look before it catches its prey.
“You’ve made it clear you’re not going to give us any names,” Manese says, “so now I’m going to give you one.” He steps closer and lowers his voice, grinning like he’s sharing a secret just for the two of them. “Tyler Kennedy Strand.”
Carlos’s blood runs cold at the sound of TK’s name.
TK’s full name.
“What—” but his ruined and dry throat refuses to cooperate. Instead, he levels a glare at Manese, and hopes that it’s enough to convey every single question and threat running through his mind right now.
If possible, Manese’s smile widens. “Recognise it do you?” he says lightly. “I thought you might. See, Carlos, we have people all over, not just in this shithole town, and once we knew who you were, it was child’s play to track down your nearest and dearest. And who is nearer and dearer than that pretty boy of yours?”
He steps back and snaps his fingers, holding his hand out. One of the others hands him a slip of paper, which Manese then presents to Carlos, dropping it carelessly in his lap. “Take a look.”
Curiosity getting the better of him, Carlos looks down at what he realises is a photograph. He can’t understand it at first, but slowly the details become clearer and more familiar, and—god.
“I’ll give him credit, he put up quite the fight,” Manese is saying, but he sounds like he’s shouting down a tunnel, the roaring in Carlos’s ears blocking out most other sounds. “It’s unfortunate that fists can’t stop a bullet.”
*
Everything stops making sense after that.
TK is dead.
TK is dead.
It makes no sense, so why should anything else? Carlos stares and stares at the photo, and keeps staring even after it’s snatched out of his lap, the image burned onto his retinas by now. He’s aware, distantly, of voices and sounds and sensations but they’re all muted, happening outside this bubble he’s created around himself.
He wishes they’d just get it over with.
*
Carlos blinks, and there’s someone new in front of him, someone unfamiliar who touches him gently and looks at him kindly.
He blinks and the scenery changes. He’s in a vehicle, staring up at a white ceiling, being taken...somewhere. He feels warm and the pain has dimmed, but he’s sinking again before he can put a thought to what that means.
He blinks and he’s in a bed, a woman standing in front of him and asking him questions. Carlos doesn’t really understand what’s going on, doesn’t know what could possibly be more important than the fact that TK is dead and it’s all his fault. He shakes his head at the woman and turns away.
He blinks, and TK is there.
And, when he blinks again, TK is still there.
And it’s—it’s impossible. He’s hallucinating or dreaming because TK is dead, and dead people don’t come back to life just because he might wish it.
So he tries, and he tries, and he tries to snap himself back to reality. But it doesn’t work, and TK is still in front of him, that crease between his brows growing with every second that passes. Carlos wants to reach out and smooth it away but he knows he can’t, and—
And, TK takes his hand and presses it to his chest.
Hallucinations don’t feel that solid.
They also don’t have a heartbeat.
This time, when TK doesn’t disappear, Carlos allows himself to believe.
“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” TK whispers in his ear, holding him close, warm and solid and alive. “I’m always going to be right here.”
#911 lone star#911 lone star fic#tarlos#tarlos fic#carlos reyes#tk strand#lone star#911ls#holly's august extravaganza#fanfiction#my fanfiction#writing#my writing#221bsunsettowers
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Bloody
There was never a time when Spike Lee wasn’t Spike Lee to me. I seem to remember being born with images from his movies pre-installed on my mental harddrive. School Daze, one of the first few VHS’s in our house, was a favorite of my mom, and seemed to always be on in the background. Watching it recently, I had a this is water realization: “This is a musical?!” The movie’s mechanics and construction were so overly familiar as to be invisible.
I love Spike Lee the way Americans love Jesus. More than any particular film (He Got Game, Do the Right Thing, and Malcolm X are three favs), I love everything Lee represents, has represented, and what I’m sure he will continue to represent. I knew even before instagram was invented that he would be great at it. And I am sure whatever mechanism comes next that facilitates a creator’s connection to their audience, Spike will embrace and master it like a surfer to the waves. Spike is always Spike, which probably facilitates his uncanny ability to appear comfortable in many worlds, from high art auteur filmmaking, to pop culture fare, to sports documentaries to political commentary. He is unapologetically ambitious, unapologetically confident, unapologetically black; a trio that America works hard to keep separate. He believes in the imperative of his movies and will do anything–hawking merch, launching a Kickstarter, starring in Capital One commercials–to get them made.
Spike’s work is not just black, but majestically black, sophisticatedly black, dangerously black. This man made Bamboozled, a movie about a television exec that makes a modern day minstrel show! There are obviously a small handful of other successful and busy black filmmakers, namely Tyler Perry and Lee Daniels. Their movies do the necessary, but not-that-interesting work of simply putting blackness front and center. But the vision of blackness of Daniels or Perry has always felt like it was for someone other than me; someone either less black or less smart. Spike’s films, while often informative, never preach or pander. They assume a black outlook as a given and not an oddity. His films are challenging and do not often resolve with easy lessons. They incorporate the broad history of film and culture and do very little to catch the audience up. It is his way of showing respect to us as viewers.
Even when I do not like a Spike Lee Joint, I always admire the chutzpah, which for me is higher praise than simply liking or enjoying a work of art. Spike will go down as one of the most prolific filmmakers. He prides himself on his goal of producing a major work annually, as opposed to many of his contemporaries like Paul Thomas Anderson or Quentin Tarantino who move at a more leisurely clip. I wonder if Spike’s breakneck pace emanates from a conscious or subconscious fear of being forgotten, and having the door closed on him; ending up like so many other promising directors of color or women directors that after successful early work find it harder and harder to secure funds and get new projects greenlit. Spike has spoken candidly of the trouble he has getting movies produced, even as a celebrity director. While historically impressed by the amount of output, I now wish Spike Lee felt the freedom and permission to slow down.
Da 5 Bloods has so much in it that I love, and multiple scenes that I found genuinely moving, but this is a mess of a movie. For a film about finding buried treasure, Lee seems to be unaware of how much gold he’s sitting on. The movie undertakes the meaty premise of having four older black Vietnam veterans return to the site that indelibly changed them, mostly for the worse, to find the remains of their inspiring troop leader, Stormin’ Normin’, and a chest of gold bullion boosted from a crashed plane and hidden in the deep jungle. They returned to America after the war broken by what they saw and unable to partake of the freedoms they supposedly fought for, but like all black folks attempted to make the most of this reality. Their meeting in Vietnam is a college reunion of sorts, if you went to college to major war atrocities, and ptsd. Like any good reunion plot, each man has their post-war war stories; divorces, estranged kids, bad breaks, bankruptcies.
They are different, almost unrecognizable to each other. Delroy Lindo’s, Paul, once a black militant, is a Maga hat wearing Trump supporter, but they are all family still. I could have watched these dialogues amongst black men who lived through civil rights, survived Vietnam, but are still fighting their own private wars all night. I wanted to stay in this movie. But about halfway through the tone of the movie shifts and whatever this movie was supposed to be about tragically steps on a landmine. The movie changes from a subtle portrait of these GI’s, their relationships to each other, and their quest to lay to rest the ghosts of the past, and becomes a gory shoot-em-up and basic-bitch heist movie, albeit with some still compelling scenes dripped in, mostly involving Paul.
In New Orleans you can often see a big storm rolling in from miles away. The writhing clouds, tinged with the primordial reds and purples of sundown and coursing with whip snaps of lightning, mesmerize to the point where you forget you’re about to get drenched. Delroy Lindo’s performance similarly entrances as he descends like King Lear into paranoia and madness, enroute to self-sabotaging the mission and his relationship with his fellow soldiers and his doting son, who has stowed away on the excursion. Spike Lee’s casting has always indicted the rest of Hollywood, by highlighting the black actors and other actors with looks were deemed too “ethic” or too “this” or too “that”, but who have more chop in one of their nostrils than many on the A-list could muster sitting on each other’s shoulders. Why is Lindo not considered one of our great actors?
While some of the creative and plot choices can be forgiven as artistic liberty, the depiction of the actual Vietnamese people in the movie is hard to justify. Other than a compelling cinematic portrait of the historical figure Hanoi Hannah whose radio broadcasts entertained and taunted American soldiers during the war, the other Vietnamese characters in the movie are pretty flat at best and ugly stereotypes at the other extreme. One of Lee’s perpetual explorations across all of his movies has been the destructive violence of racial stereotypes. Do the Right Thing ends when Police indiscriminately kill Radio Raheem, perceiving the imposing black man as only a threat and not a beloved community member and human worthy of dignity and protection. Blackkklansman presents us with a black man who is also a cop and all of the complexity that entails. Strangely, Lee regurgitates the worst stereotypes of the Viet-Cong in the group of Vietnamese mercenaries serving at the behest of bloated Jean Reno’s french gangster (and Donald Trump surrogate?) who ambush Da Bloods for their gold, leading to the films Tarantino-esque bloodbath ending. The climactic scene which sees Da Bloods, like retired athletes, reliving their glory days as soldiers by extension glorifies the Vietnam conflict and the killing of the Vietnamese, which is disappointing and sad. For a director that for decades avoided tidy popcorn conclusions, this film and his previous outing, Blackkklansman, basically end in good guy vs. bad guy gunfights.
Da 5 Bloods should have been Girls Trip but with Vietnam vets; former friends with divergent lives butting heads and ultimately reconnecting; learning from while burying the past. There’s a strange moment in Da 5 Bloods before the movie breaks bad when the gang finds a pistol hidden by Clarke Peter’s character, Otis, the ostensible leader of the adventure. For battle worn vets they seem weirdly squeamish at the thought that one of them is packing. These astute Spike Lee characters, knowledgeable of movie and theater orthodoxy, understand that if a gun appears, at some point it's going to go off. Perhaps they, like me, were lamenting the inevitable end of the more dynamic and challenging first half of the movie. Maybe through them Spike Lee is voicing his own reservations about the pending violence of the film. Either way, Spike, like Otis, shouldn't have brought the gun.
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Cuevana The Tax Collector 2020 Pelicula Completa Latino HD
HAGA CLICK AQUI : https://bit.ly/33Lw9UB
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Production companies: Fast Horse Pictures, Kodiak Pictures, Cedar Park Entertainment
Distributor: RLJE Films (select theaters, VOD, digital)
Cast: Bobby Soto, Cinthya Carmona, George Lopez, Shia LaBeouf, Elpidia Carrillo, Lana Parrilla, David Castañeda, Conejo, Cheyenne Rae Hernandez, Cle Sloan, Noemi Gonzalez, Juan Carlos Cantu, Chelsea Rendon, Rene Moran
Director-screenwriter: David Ayer
Producers: Chris Long, David Ayer, Tyler Thompson, Matt Antoun
Executive producers: Douglas Duncan, Buddy Patrick, Steve Matzkin, Misook Doolittle, Sarah Schroeder-Matzkin, Mickey Gooch, Jr., Doug McKay, Cindy Bond, Todd Williams
Director of photography: Salvatore Totino
Production designer: Andrew Menzies
Costume designer: Kelli Jones
Music: Michael Yezerski
Editor: Geoffrey O'Brien
Casting: Mary Vernieu, Lindsay Graham-Ahanonu
SINOPSIS
No se sabe nada acerca del argumento de esta cinta de acción y crímen que, aparentemente, seguirá la línea de dos de los trabajos anteriores de David Ayer: Training Day y Sin Tregua (End of Watch).
La cinta está dirigida, pues, por David Ayer (Escuadrón Suicida, Bright) y protagonizada por Shia LaBeouf (Honey Boy, The Peanut Butter Falcon), Bobby Soto (For the People, S.W.A.T. Los hombres de Harrelson), Chelsea Randon (Nueve vidas, Urgencias), Cinthya Carmona (The Fix, Greenhouse Academy) y Lana Parrilla (Érase una vez, Chase).
'The Tax Collector': Film Review
Violent Los Angeles street culture on both sides of the law has been an abiding fascination in David Ayer's output, notably in his bruising screenplay for Training Day and his nervy, documentary-style cop drama, End of Watch. The buddy dynamic and gritty milieu of that 2012 film invigorate the best elements of The Tax Collector, the writer-director's return to a smaller-scale project after taking a critical hammering with the big-budget, high-concept outings of Suicide Squad and Netflix's Bright. "So why another L.A. crime movie?" asks Ayer in his Director's Statement. Why, indeed.
Despite a lot of admirable aims, such as creating layered roles for the Latino acting community and spending production dollars in areas that could benefit from the economic boost, this grim bloodbath feels too routine to be of much interest.
The well-acted film is shot by Salvatore Totino with impressive dexterity, capturing the urban sprawl of L.A. with a sharp eye and deft ability to build textured atmosphere, and Geoffrey O'Brien's editing shows an equally propulsive hand. But almost everything about this mean-streets action thriller feels familiar and a touch self-important, starting with its heralding of the sacred code blasted over a portrait of protagonist David (Bobby Soto) with his beautiful wife and angelic kids: "Love. Honor. Loyalty. Family."
The vaunted authenticity legitimized by Ayer's upbringing in South L.A. in the 1970s and '80s in this case doesn't mean he has a fresh perspective. The conflict of a loyal lieutenant in a criminal organization who compartmentalizes his life into hard-core career thug on one side, devoted paterfamilias on the other — "God allows me to walk from the darkness and come back into the light," says David — by now seems a standard gangster trope. As soon as that's established, we know exactly where he's going to feel the pain.
While Soto (Narcos: Mexico) makes a reasonably charismatic lead, the more magnetic character is his sidekick, a twitchy killing machine known as Creeper (Shia LaBeouf, reuniting with Ayer after Fury). Encased in figure-hugging skinny suits, Mafia-grade sunglasses and just the right amount of bling, LaBeouf goes full Method with his flavorful dialogue and wired physicality, whether Creeper is extolling the virtues of his smelly protein diet, musing on the value of morning meditation and the meaninglessness of God in his universe or simply itching to stop talking and spill some blood. The actor builds a fully formed character that suggests an intriguing backstory, giving off sparks in his every scene.
Regrettably, that's not so much the case with the more generically drawn David and his wife Alexis (Cinthya Carmona), who is perceived as being safely outside the family's criminal operations but has enough of a stake in the business to know what's what. She certainly has no qualms about calling on David to put the fear of death into the "Mexican Kardashians" holding up work on their daughter's quinceañera dress, and she oversees the weekly tally of protection money collected by David and Creeper from 43 different L.A. street gangs.
Alexis is also the point person who communicates directly with Wizard, the overlord of the crime organization whose current situation (along with the unbilled famous name playing the role) is revealed in the film's closing scene.
'Tax Collector' Trailer Reteams Shia LaBeouf and David Ayer
David's connection to Wizard becomes apparent only gradually, once an old rival of the crime boss returns from Mexico intent on reshaping the street-gang landscape according to his own rules. That hostile interloper, Conejo (borrowing the rapper name of Jose Martin, who plays the role with maximum menace), takes pleasure in reminding David how he's still a glorified errand boy instead of a fully-fledged made man.
Conejo first extends a hand offering David an executive role in his burgeoning empire. When that offer is declined, Conejo sends a brutal message via David's drug dealer Uncle Louis (comedian George Lopez, bringing understated snarl to a dramatic role). "I'm the future and you're the past," Conejo warns David, later adding, "Everything you love is gonna die."
While David prays to Jesus to keep his family and their palatial Spanish-style home safe, Conejo's religious rituals make Santeria look like Sunday school. The movie veers into grotesquerie as he prays at an unholy altar for protection in the oncoming turf war, bathing in the blood of a human sacrifice in a room that looks like Keith Haring threw a Dia de los Muertos party.
This might have been lurid fun from a director who didn't take it all so seriously, even if it's in questionable taste at a time when the White House administration has done everything in its power to demonize Latin American immigrants. There's little leeway for dark humor in Ayer's world, though I did get a kick out of Conejo's lady friend Gata (Cheyenne Rae Hernandez). Licking her lips lasciviously, the aptly named feline fiend can lob explosives and rain bullets from a semi-automatic all while skipping about on vertiginous heels. And you don't even want to know about her skills with a hammer. But Gata is a figure out of a Robert Rodriguez grindhouse world stuck in a fundamentally realist realm.
The inevitable faceoff between Conejo's goons and Wizard's is plenty bloody, intercut with Conejo's Satanic prayers. But the sequence feels almost perfunctory, yielding few surprises for a director with the sinewy action command Ayer has shown in the past. Pretty much everything that follows becomes both predictable and a little too easy as David musters all his force to protect what's most precious to him, calling on help from the leader of a Bloods gang (Cle Sloan) in his showdown with Conejo.
Earlier scenes have sketched in David's strategic ability to accrue loyalty as well as the humanity he shows when one gang rep's payment shortfall is explained by the medical expenses of his chronically ill daughter. But Ayer seems to be laboring under the misapprehension that the family-oriented gangster is something new in movies, along with the conflicted cycle of intergenerational violence. When blood-drenched David starts spouting hackneyed dialogue like "For my family, I live. For my family, I die. For my family, I kill," it's hard to stifle a groan. And the incorporation of the Zen aspects of Jiu Jitsu into his climactic fight is too flimsy to add anything.
Ayer drives the action along efficiently enough to the churning dread of Michael Yezerski's score. But there's too little depth to make you care about the characters and too little imagination at work to make The Tax Collector pay.
Production companies: Fast Horse Pictures, Kodiak Pictures, Cedar Park Entertainment
Distributor: RLJE Films (select theaters, VOD, digital)
Cast: Bobby Soto, Cinthya Carmona, George Lopez, Shia LaBeouf, Elpidia Carrillo, Lana Parrilla, David Castañeda, Conejo, Cheyenne Rae Hernandez, Cle Sloan, Noemi Gonzalez, Juan Carlos Cantu, Chelsea Rendon, Rene Moran
Director-screenwriter: David Ayer
Producers: Chris Long, David Ayer, Tyler Thompson, Matt Antoun
Executive producers: Douglas Duncan, Buddy Patrick, Steve Matzkin, Misook Doolittle, Sarah Schroeder-Matzkin, Mickey Gooch, Jr., Doug McKay, Cindy Bond, Todd Williams
Director of photography: Salvatore Totino
Production designer: Andrew Menzies
Costume designer: Kelli Jones
Music: Michael Yezerski
Editor: Geoffrey O'Brien
Casting: Mary Vernieu, Lindsay Graham-Ahanonu
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Chapter 20 Theories
Chapter 20 was a great continuation from Chapter 19’s cliffhanger! I couldn’t wait to start theorizing for Chapter 20 and begin guessing as to what will happen for Chapter 21!
Brian’s teasing of Ohm and Toonz may not be good for his health in the long run, but it does remind us of how little we know about their past. Maybe we’ll get the full OhmToonz story when they go to confront Grigori and the Celestial Council.
We also don’t know much about Brian’s past and what made him into “The Terroriser”. Maybe after his father died, assuming he died after saving Brock, Brian had to take over as pack Alpha, but because he was so young no one trusted him to be able to lead the pack. Maybe there was a mutiny against him that tore the pack apart? Or maybe something attacks his pack while he’s still trying to figure out how to be an Alpha, and it wipes out everyone but him. Brian would probably blame himself for not being able to protect his pack. Maybe that’s why Brian never told Brock that they were mates; Brian felt that he couldn’t protect Brock and that Brock would be better off without him. Brian went solo and vowed vengeance for his pack, earning the title “Terroriser” for his actions while pursuing revenge. Maybe that was also a way for Brian to prove to himself that he wasn’t weak. Once he finally avenged his pack, Brian was able to stop and really look at who he had become and what he had done up until this point. Brian became lost as he now has no purpose, and that’s when he finds/is found by Panda. Panda gives him a reason to keep living by giving him a job and letting Brian escape his past and form a new pack.
Brian also seems to be the shipper of the gang. I’m willing to bet that he’s been trying to get Scotty and Marcel together for a while. Maybe he’ll be the one to force Tyler to man up and tell Mini about his feelings. Maybe Brian is such a shipper because he wants the people he cares about to have what he thinks he can never have himself. Setting other people up and seeing them happy helps distract Brian from the fact that he’ll never be able to be with Brock (at least, that’s what Brian thinks. Everyone else is secretly rooting for them. Panda is the unspoken leader of this club).
Kryoz was willing to give up one of the only good things he got from his home to help Smiity. If that’s not adorable, I don’t know what is! I’m willing to bet that Krii7y will be the first couple to actually happen. They’re basically a couple already. Once Smiity gets his body back, they’ll probably have to have a serious talk about what they are. Though that’ll devolve into sarcastic jokes and bad memes in a couple minutes. Hopefully Smiity regaining his memories won’t mess up anything between them. Maybe John thinks that Smiity is gonna want to go back to his old life after getting his memories back, and Smiity is gonna have to convince John that he’d rather stay with him.
Brian is able to feel Brock’s fear and whether he’s in danger or not. This seems to be fairly normal for werewolves and their mates, but this also seems to be the same kind of bond that Tyler and Mini share. Is the bond between Phoenix and Knight the same as the bond between werewolf and mate? Back in Chapter 7, Delirious noticed that it felt like two werewolves were bonding when Tyler and Craig touched. So is the bonding process the same for werewolves/mates and the Phoenix/Phoenix Knight?
Grigori really wasn’t messing around with trying to retrieve the Phoenix! Three vampires, five dark elves, and a pack of hellhounds; and that’s only what’s been revealed so far. Who knows what else Grigori has thrown at the group? Will Grigori himself show up to retrieve the Phoenix? Or is he content to let his minions do the work for him? Maybe we'll finally meet one of those lieutenants from the evil meeting!
So the shadow thing was actually the magic of dark elves. Not quite as sinister as what I was thinking, but still really fricking bad! They managed to take Tyler out of the fight, though I'm not sure how badly he's been hurt. Fortunately, I don't think he's been paralyzed. Maybe just broken ribs? Brian will never let Tyler live this battle down once he gets there.
Evan is going to get himself killed trying to fight supernatural entities as a human. I appreciate his enthusiasm for protecting his friends, but Evan, buddy, pal, friend; No. At this point, he's more likely to just distract his friends than do any real damage to the enemy. Evan is necessary and extremely important in other ways! He's some of the glue that holds the group together and one of the rational minds; not a fighter.
Evan triggered a bloodlust in Delirious, which is both a good thing and a bad thing. It's good because Del was able to kill all of the dark elves. It's bad because now Delirious is living up to his nickname. Evan is trying to reason with Del and appeal to his humanity, but it's not really working. The chapter ended with Evan pinned by Del. I don't think Delirious is going to kill Evan. Some part of Jon is still in there and he doesn't want to hurt anyone. Maybe that's the only reason he didn't attack Evan at first. What if Del can't hold back his instincts anymore and is about to kill Evan, but Brian shows up in time to stop him? Brian knocks Del off of Evan and the two start fighting. Brian probably won't want to kill Jon, but he will to protect Brock. (Tyler finds the fact that Brian is here even though no one called him very suspicious. He makes sure to question him later.) They both get some good hits on each other. While Brian has more experience, Del has more raw power. Maybe while they're fighting, Brock has to restrain Evan from trying to stop the fight. But when the two werewolves go in for what could be the final blow, Evan breaks free and jumps in between them. Either Brian or Delirious, I'm leaning towards Delirious, misses their intended target and hits Evan instead. The fight ends; cue super protective Delirious.
Mini, who had been watching in stunned silence, digs up the strength to go try to save his best friend, “I've done this once before, I'll be damned if I can't do it again.” Brock's too busy trying to get to Evan to notice or stop Mini. Tyler does his best to stop him because it'll be a cold day in hell before he willingly lets Mini get anywhere near a turned werewolf in bloodlust, but Craig's too determined to be stopped. Maybe when Tyler reaches out to grab Mini, some of Mini's healing energy transfers to Tyler and fixes whatever’s keeping him from moving. Despite the protests, Craig manages to get to where Delirious is holding Evan. Craig somehow convinces Del to let him heal Evan. Maybe, on some level, Delirious recognizes the magic that had saved his life before? Maybe Mini is able to Jon out of bloodlust in the process. Craig is able to save Evan, but he has now revealed his Phoenix powers to everyone there.
What if Delirious turns Evan into a werewolf in the attack? I think it's only turned werewolves that can infect other people and turn them. Delirious would hate himself for doing that to Evan. Evan, even though he's freaked out, wouldn't blame Del or consider it to be a curse. Delirious didn't mean to hurt him, and Evan knows that. Jon could then help Evan through his first transformations and help him understand what's happening to his body. This would mean that Evan would be able to handle himself in a fight. And Evan and Del could form their own little pack! Which would, of course, include Mini and Brock. Which means that Brian and Tyler are included. Which means that everyone in Brian's pack is included. So in reality, the three werewolves just have a giant pack with all of their friends. This'll lead to some great family dinners and wild slumber parties!
Chapter 20 was a lot of fun and pretty tense at times! It ended with another cliffhanger, but that made it fun to write theories! I can't wait to see what happens in Chapter 21!!! I'm sure @crimsonbluemoon is gonna make it amazing!!
#submission#libahunt#Libahunt Theories#Chapter 20 Theories#i meant to have these done yesterday...#whoops!#at least they're out before tomorrow's chapter!#i'm so excited for chapter 21!#it's gonna be crazy!#lots of stuff is happening!#hope you guys enjoyed the theories!#crimsonbluemoon#1sunnydaze0
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Blog Tour: WOLF MARKED by @AlexisCalder1 With An Excerpt & $10 Amazon GC #Giveaway!
I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the WOLF MARKED by Alexis Calder Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!
About The Book:
Title: WOLF MARKED (Moon Cursed #1)
Author: Alexis Calder
Pub. Date: July 29, 2021
Publisher: Alexis Calder
Formats: Paperback, eBook
Pages: 232
Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle
Read For Free With A Kindle Unlimited Membership!
They tried to break me. Now I’m going to break them.
Cursed to never shift, the only thing I was looking forward to about the First Moon Ceremony was that the magic sealing me into Wolf Creek would break, and I could finally leave.
Instead, the ceremony reveals my true mate: Tyler Grant, future leader of my pack and the man responsible for my most recent concussion and black eye. He’s as brutal as he is handsome and fate is a bitch to put us together.
There’s a rumor that a mating bond could break my curse and just as I’m getting my hopes up, Tyler destroys them all.
Instead of bonding with my mate, I’m beaten and left for dead.
A hot-as-sin feral shifter finds me and helps me back on my feet. But his help comes with a cost and I’m not sure I’m willing to pay the price.
With my former pack hunting me down, even an enemy might be a better ally than trying to stay alive on my own.
This is book one in steamy rejected mate series. This is not a reverse harem series. 17+ for steam, language, and darker themes.
Excerpt
Chapter One
The wind rustled the paper calendar hanging on my wall and I glanced at the crossed off days. Six days left. I was so close to freedom. Pulling my jacket tighter around me, I walked over to the window and peered outside. The sky was steely gray and the clouds looked like they might bring a tornado. It was late spring and the weather this time of year was unpredictable.
Maybe I’d get lucky and it would hit my mom’s shitty trailer and I could get out of here permanently. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get out of here that easily. Whatever witch magic they’d used to seal us in pack lands seemed to also keep the worst weather away. It also prevented us from self-harm. Not that it kept anyone else from beating the shit out of me.
I supposed if I really wanted out, I could have pushed Tyler and his entourage a little more. The penalty for killing another member of the pack was death, but I had a feeling nobody would mourn me. And it wasn’t like they’d lock up the next alpha for getting rid of the broken wolf.
I closed the window. While we were unlikely to get a tornado here, we did get rain and I didn’t need the water coming in and ruining my few meager possessions.
The duffel bag sitting next to the folding table that served as my desk was already packed. It had been for three months. Waiting until the night the magic would free me from this prison. On the first full moon after my nineteenth birthday, I was supposed to shift, and with that magic, I’d gain the ability to leave the magical border around our town. I already knew I wouldn’t shift, but the magic should break, letting me finally escape from the hell that was my life.
For the rest of the pack, that barrier was our savior. It kept us hidden and protected. Away from feral wolves who hunted other shifters for sport. Away from humans who would kill us on sight. Most importantly, it kept us away from witches. At least that was what they taught us. For me, it kept me away from freedom. I’d take my chances with humans and feral shifters any day over the shit I dealt with here. Witches and magic freaked me out more, but I’d cross that bridge when I got to it.
Fucking magic. Fucking witches. They were the cause of all my pain. The reason I was trapped in a town where I was abused daily. The reason my mom spent her days on her back with whatever pills she could find to dull her pain. I didn’t even know who my dad was but I was sure he was an asshole. Just like my mom’s dad. He was the one who pissed off a witch, resulting in the curse that follows my family. No shifting for us. Practically human with a dormant wolf shifter gene. If only my mom had fled while she was pregnant with me and let us live as humans. Instead, she’d stayed here, pining over the fucker who knocked her up. He never came back and I got stuck here.
“Lola, did you grab cigarettes at the store?” Mom yelled.
“Yeah, mom. They’re on the table.” I shouldn’t indulge her habits. It was gross and it cost me a small fortune but it kept her off my case. She didn’t ask where I went or what I did as long as there were cigarettes on the table and food in the fridge. All paid for by my after school job at the pack grocery store.
It wasn’t a glamorous job, but it was helping me save something for when I finally got free of this hellhole.
I took a peek in the mirror and gingerly touched the bruises from my latest black eye. Another gift from the male who would one day be the pack alpha. If Tyler Grant had treated me with indifference, maybe I’d have stayed here. Instead, I got daily reminders that I was unwelcome. One of these days he was going to go too far and I intended to be long gone before then. Huh, how about that? I guess I didn’t have a death wish after all. My desire to survive was barely hanging on by a thread. It would be easier to roll over and give up. Thankfully, I had the reminder of my mom and what her life was like. I refused to become like her.
I considered applying some concealer to cover my injury, but it wouldn’t hide it much. The rest of my classmates would be healed by now, but since I didn’t have the wolf inside me to aid in that, I healed like a human. The purple and blue made my eyes look even more green than they were. Apparently, I had my father’s eyes. Most of the pack had brown or amber eyes. The green in mine was another thing that made me stand out. Add in the red hair and it was impossible for me to hide.
Quickly, I pulled my hair into a low ponytail to get it out of the way. I grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulder. Six more days. That was all I had to do. Just a few more days of school, a few more days of work, a few more days of ignoring the over-acting of my mom’s moaning through the paper-thin walls of her bedroom. I shuddered. No kid should have to hear their mom engaging in that. I didn’t judge how she earned her money but I sure as hell didn’t want to listen to it.
With one last glance at my packed bag, I left my room. The thought of leaving was the only thing getting me through the motions. Chin high, I reminded myself that I was almost there. I’d made it this far. I could make it six more days.
Students mingled in the grass in front of Wolf Creek Community College when I arrived. I glared at the building, which was right next door to Wolf Creek High School. Sometime when I was a small kid, they’d expanded the school requirement to make all of us take at least one semester of college while waiting for our first full moon. Most kids who grew up here dropped out as soon as they had their first shift and settled into some mundane job in town. Few left because we all knew being a wolf without a pack was challenging. I wouldn’t ever turn into a wolf so I wasn’t worried. Being alone would be better than being here.
It was the twenty-fourth of May and there were only a couple weeks of school left before summer break. But I wouldn’t be here to finish the year. My birthday was last week, which meant the full moon in six days was my ticket out. I was so close, I could taste it.
As I neared the entry, I realized that a small group of guys was waiting by the front doors. My heart pounded and I froze. Tyler and his crew were gathered there despite the fact that most of them had already had their first full moon. Tyler was one of the few wolves who stayed enrolled in school after his first shift last month. I figured for sure he’d be out of here since his future was set. As the next alpha, it didn’t matter if he had any actual skills aside from being able to throw people around. He could do whatever he wanted and nobody would bat an eye.
Quickly, I changed direction and started walking toward the side of the building. There were other doors I could use and I wasn’t in the mood to get the shit beat out of me today. It wasn’t like I was a pushover but there was nothing fair about three dudes against one non-shifted chick.
I slipped into the side door and walked down the tile hallway. Kids I’d known my whole life glanced at me and quickly looked away. That was how it was for me. When I was younger, it hurt that I was so alone. Now, I was grateful for their indifference. Ignoring me was better than the alternative.
When I finally took my seat in my Calculus class, I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d made it in without sporting a new black eye. Six more days.
Professor Ortiz started writing on the white board and the four other people in the class were already taking notes. I had no deep love of math, but I was good at it and Tyler wasn’t. Another not as proud moment. My schedule was based on things Tyler hated. I reminded myself that it wasn’t like I’d even get the credit for the class since I’d be out before the term was over. It was pure survival at this point.
Soon enough, I was sucked into class, too focused on the numbers to worry about anything else. Okay, so maybe I liked that about math. It forced me to shut out my other worries.
I went through the motions for the next two classes, doing enough to keep the professors from noticing me and not engaging enough to draw attention to myself. It was a balancing act I’d perfected over the years. Keeping to myself and making myself nearly invisible were the only ways I’d made it this far.
The hallways were packed. There were only a hundred of us in this school, but since we all had the same lunch, it got busy when it was time for a break. I walked into the crowd, keeping my gaze down to avoid confrontation. It was especially important this close to a full moon.
Someone ran right into me, their shoulder slammed into mine, shoving me aside. I looked up, ready to find a way out, but when my eyes met Tyler’s I knew I was fucked.
“Where have you been hiding little wolf?” He stared at me with his amber eyes, a vicious smile on his lips. His fingers dug into my bicep as he held me tight. “I waited for you at the front door but you didn’t come. I thought maybe you were playing hooky.”
“What and give someone else the chance to beat the shit out of me? You know we’re exclusive.” Missing school was worse than attending. Tyler and his friends might use me as a punching bag, but the torture that came with being truant was far worse. I’d tried a few times in high school, but it wasn’t worth the pain.
He pushed me forward into the women’s bathroom. The door swung open and two girls standing by the sinks screamed.
“Out. Now.” Tyler growled.
“I don’t know why you waste your time with her,” Tenny, a tall blonde who was a few months older than me said.
Every female at school wanted Tyler. He was going to be the next alpha, after all. Even without the promise of power, his looks would buy him a lot of attention. He was over six feet of solid muscle. With wavy black hair, piercing amber eyes, and a strong masculine jaw, he was like a walking wet dream. Thankfully, his good looks were wasted on me. He’d been an awkward kid and by the time he resembled a fucking Greek God, I knew what kind of person he was.
“Ditch the loser, Ty,” Tenny said in what was probably supposed to be a seductive tone. “We haven’t had a tumble in my back seat in a while.”
“I said, out,” Tyler repeated.
“She probably doesn’t even know what you like,” Tenny whined.
“What exactly do you think he’s doing with me?” I asked. “Because I promise you if he put his dick anywhere near me, I’d bite it off.”
Tyler’s hand made contact with my face, slapping me so hard it nearly knocked me on my ass. The sting made my eyes water and I forced myself to clench my jaw and hold my breath rather than cry out. I’d learned long ago that when I reacted, it made things worse.
Tenny giggled. “Well, since she’s not meeting your needs, you know where to find me if you want a real wolf.”
“Out,” Tyler repeated.
The girls left the bathroom and I pulled free of Tyler’s grip. “What do you want, Tyler?”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “My father should have kicked you and your whore of a mother out the day your grandfather crossed that witch. Better yet, he should have let you starve in the caves.”
I swallowed hard. The worst punishment in our pack was being locked in the caves on the south end of town, right near the border. Locked in without food or water with other criminals meant that wolves often went feral and fed on each other. It was gruesome and had only been used once in my lifetime, but the threat was always there. Only, this was the first time Tyler mentioned it. He’d told me I shouldn’t be here in previous encounters, but he’d never talked about the caves. Ever since his first shift, he’d been more emotional and less stable. I was grateful he wasn’t the alpha yet.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here soon and you’ll never have to look at me again.” I glared at him.
Before I saw it coming, his hand was around my throat and he pushed me back, slamming me against the wall. I heard the cracking of my head as it made contact and hoped it didn’t mean I had another concussion. Pain blurred my vision and I winced despite myself.
He was faster and stronger than he was before his first shift. When we were younger, I had a chance against him. As we got older, he got stronger, feeding off the energy of his wolf. I didn’t have that advantage. It was hard to tell if the beatings had gotten worse or if he’d gotten stronger.
When we were in elementary school, he teased me but by middle school, things turned physical. In the last year, I had learned I didn’t stand a chance fighting back anymore. What I wouldn’t give for some of the strength and power that came along with a shift.
Tyler scowled at me. His expression reflecting pure hatred. I never knew what I did to make him so mad, but it had gotten worse recently. Beating me up had always seemed to be a sport, something he did with a laugh to show off to his friends.
That’s when it hit me that we were totally alone. My heart pounded faster. In all the years of dealing with Tyler, he’d always had others with him. There were always witnesses. He liked the audience and there was always someone to pull him back if he took things too far. We’d never actually been alone before. For the first time during one of our little torture sessions, I was worried. This wasn’t just a game anymore.
“Let me go,” I demanded.
“Like I said, you shouldn’t even be here, little wolf.” He squeezed harder, making me gasp for air. My vision blurred, growing darker around the edges. For a moment, I wondered if this was it. If he took me out, I would be free of this place, done with the pain. I considered it for a heartbeat. A flicker of anger urged me forward, I wasn’t ready yet.
Risking retaliation, I kicked Tyler right in the nuts. He let go, groaning, as he grabbed his manhood. I sidestepped him then bolted for the door, sucking in air as I fled. The hallway was empty. His friends nowhere in sight. Whatever Tyler had been after, he didn’t want any witnesses. If he hadn’t already had his mind set on murdering me, he probably did now. I might have just signed my own death warrant. Fuck. Surviving for the next six days was going to be harder than I thought.
About Alexis:
Alexis Calder writes sassy heroines and sexy heroes with a sprinkle of sarcasm. She lives in the Rockies and drinks far too much coffee and just the right amount of wine.
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The first and third incarnations of the Klan—the cross-burning lynch mobs and the vigilantes who beat up and murdered civil rights workers in the 1960s—seem beyond the pale of today’s politics, at least for the moment. But the second Klan, the Klan of the 1920s, less violent but far more widespread, is a different story, and one that offers some chilling comparisons to the present day. It embodied the same racism at its core but served it up beneath a deceptively benign façade, in all-American patriotic colors.
In other ways as well, the Klan of the 1920s strongly echoes the world of Donald Trump. This Klan was a movement, but also a profit-making business. On economic issues, it took a few mildly populist stands. It was heavily supported by evangelicals. It was deeply hostile to science and trafficked in false assertions. And it was masterfully guided by a team of public relations advisers as skillful as any political consultants today.
Two new books give us a fresh look at this second period of the Klan. Linda Gordon’s The Second Coming of the KKK is the wiser and deeper; Felix Harcourt’s Ku Klux Kulture offers some useful background information but then, reflecting its origin as a Ph.D. thesis, becomes an exhaustive survey of Klansmen’s appearances, variously as heroes or villains, in the era’s novels, movies, songs, plays, musicals, and more.
The KKK’s rebirth was spurred by D.W. Griffith’s landmark 1915 film, Birth of a Nation. The most expensive and widely seen motion picture that had yet been made, it featured rampaging mobs of newly freed slaves in the post–Civil War South colluding with rapacious northern carpetbaggers. To the rescue comes the Ku Klux Klan, whose armed and mounted heroes lynch a black villain, save the honor of southern womanhood, and prevent the ominous prospect of blacks at the ballot box. “It is like teaching history with lightning,” said an admiring President Woodrow Wilson, an ardent segregationist, who saw the film in the White House. Wilson’s comment underlines a point both Gordon and Harcourt make: the Klan of this era was no fringe group, for tens of millions of nonmembers agreed with its politics.
The founder of the reincarnated Klan in 1915 was an Atlanta physician named William Joseph Simmons, who five years later fell into the hands of two skilled public relations professionals, Elizabeth Tyler and Edward Young Clarke. They convinced him that for the Klan to gain members in other parts of the country, it had to add Jews, Catholics, immigrants, and big-city elites to its list of villains. Tyler and Clarke in effect ran the KKK for the next several years, a pair of Bannons to Simmons’s Trump.
Simmons signed a contract giving the two an amazing 80 percent of dues and other revenue gleaned from new recruits. They are believed to have reaped $850,000—worth more than $11 million today—in their first fifteen months on the job. The whole enterprise was organized on a commission basis: everyone from the recruiters, or Kleagles, up through higher officers (King Kleagles, Grand Goblins, and more) kept a percentage of the initiation fee ($10, the equivalent of $122 today) and monthly dues. The movement was a highly lucrative brand.
Tyler and Clarke polished Simmons’s speaking style and set up newspaper interviews for him, gave free Klan memberships to Protestant ministers, and assured prominent placement of their blizzard of press releases by buying tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of newspaper advertising. To appear respectable, they made these purchases through two well-known ad agencies, one of which had a Jewish CEO. Simmons, however, spent much of his share of the take on horse races, prizefights, and drink. Several rivals who lusted after the KKK’s lucrative income stream maneuvered him out of office with the help of Tyler and Clarke.
A plump, diminutive Texas dentist, Hiram Evans, became the new Imperial Wizard in 1922. He, in turn, his eye on Tyler and Clarke’s 80 percent of revenues, was able to force them out because of a scandal—the two were sexually involved but each was married to someone else. Linda Gordon gives Tyler major credit for the Klan’s success: “The organization might well have grown without this driven, bold, corrupt, and precociously entrepreneurial woman, but it would likely have been smaller.” About other women in the Klan, such as one group called Ladies of the Invisible Empire, Gordon dryly notes, “Readers…must rid themselves of notions that women’s politics are always kinder, gentler, and less racist than men’s.”
Significantly, the new Wizard moved the Klan’s headquarters to Washington, D.C. Membership skyrocketed, reaching an estimated four million by 1924. The revenue remained enormous: beyond dues, there were sales of Klan insurance, knives, trinkets, and garb. Those robes and pointed hoods were made to an exacting pattern, sold at a big markup, and, until his ouster, could only be purchased from a company owned by Clarke. The temptations of this fountain of money led to further rivalries and embezzlement, compounded by the conviction of several Klan leaders for various sordid offenses, most spectacularly the Indiana Grand Dragon for the rape and murder of a young woman who worked for him—a crime that left his bite marks all over her body. All of this made the Klan largely collapse by the end of the decade—but not before it had helped win an enormous legislative victory, and not before there occurred a curious episode involving the Trump family.
Before we get to that, however, there’s another odd parallel between the Klan of the 1920s and the present day, which has to do with the sheer value of getting attention in the media. Many newspapers campaigned against the KKK, and no less than five such exposés won Pulitzer Prizes. The first was for an excoriating series of stories in the New York World in 1921 that revealed secret Klan rituals and code words, gave the names of more than two hundred officials, and listed violent crimes committed by Klansmen. The heavily promoted articles ran for three weeks, were reprinted by seventeen newspapers throughout the country, and provoked a congressional investigation. But instead of crushing the organization, the exposé did the opposite; one historian estimates that the series increased Klan membership by more than a million. Some people even tried to join by filling out the blank membership application form the World had used to illustrate one story.
Being denounced by a liberal New York newspaper, it turned out, gave the Klan just the political imprimatur it needed, and spread the news of its rebirth across the nation. Imperial Wizard Evans exulted that the exposés had provided “fifty million dollars’ worth of free advertising.” People loved the idea of joining a fraternal organization with secret rites and extravagant titles that included judges, congressmen, and other prominent citizens, and that legitimized combat against the forces that seemed to be undermining traditional American life.
What were those forces? Movements heavy on ethnic hatred and imagined conspiracies flourish when rapid changes upset the social order and people feel their income or status threatened. In the heyday of European fascism, the threat came from the enormous job losses of the Great Depression, which in Germany followed the humiliating Versailles Treaty and ruinous inflation that wiped out savings. Among many of Trump’s supporters today, the threat comes from stagnating or declining wages and the rapid automation and globalization that makes people feel their jobs are ever less secure.
We don’t normally think of the heady, expanding American economy of the 1920s as a period of threat, but Gordon offers a broader cultural and feminist analysis. “The Klan supplied a way for members to confirm manliness,” she writes, in an era when many traditional male roles were disappearing. “As more men became white-collar workers, as more small businesses lost out to chains, as the political supremacy of Anglo-Saxons became contested, as more women reached for economic and political rights,” the Klan “organized the performances of masculinity and male bonding through uniforms, parades, rituals, secrecy, and hierarchical military ranks and titles.” She quotes an admonition from one Oregon chapter: “Remember when you come to lodge that this is not an old maid’s convention.” A man who by day might be an accountant or stationery salesman or have a wife who earned more than he did could, in his Klan robes, be a Kleagle or Klaliff or Exalted Cyclops by night.
Not all Klan members were men, of course, and the Klan was not the only organization that offered ceremonial dress and fancy titles: it’s telling that the first place Klan recruiters usually sought members was among Masons. But Gordon’s is a thoughtful explanation of the Klan’s appeal in the fast-urbanizing America of the 1920s, which was leaving behind an earlier nation based, in imagined memory, on self-sufficient yeoman farmers, proud blue-collar workers, and virtuous small-town businessmen, all of them going to the same white-steepled church on Sunday. It was a world in which men did traditionally manly work and women’s place was in the kitchen and bedroom. Even city-dwellers—perhaps especially city-dwellers—could feel this nostalgia. (Although, as with many idealized pasts, the reality was less ideal: many late-nineteenth-century farmers and small businessmen went bankrupt or deep into debt, casualties of a string of recessions and declining world commodity prices.)
All these feelings, of course, came on top of centuries of racism. And that hostility was surely exacerbated during the 1920s when the Great Migration of African-Americans out of the South was well underway, making black faces visible to millions who had seldom or never seen them before....
Sometimes what doesn’t happen is revealing. If upheavals that threaten people’s jobs and status provide the classic fuel for movements like the KKK, then in the 1930s, when the Depression threw a quarter of the American labor force out of work and left hundreds of thousands living in shacks of scrap wood and tarpaper, why didn’t the Klan come back to life stronger than ever? One answer is that Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal, despite its shortcomings, was a far-reaching and impassioned attempt to address the nation’s economic woes and injustices head-on, with a boldness we’ve not seen since then. It gave people hope. Another answer is that although FDR made many compromises with southern Democrats to get his programs through Congress, he was no racist. The more outspoken Eleanor Roosevelt was a fervent proponent of anti-lynching laws and of full rights for black Americans. The tone set by the White House matters; it creates moral space for others to speak and act. Perhaps it’s no surprise that these were years when the Klan lay low.
#fdr was an ignoramus who was far better at PR than actual governance#but the point about having a real economic program still stands
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Doctor Who Reviews by a Female Doctor, Season 5, part I
Please note: these reviews contain spoilers for this season as well as other seasons of the reboot, and contain occasional references to the classic series.
Previously on Doctor Who: Russell T. Davies presided over the rebirth of the show, starting with Rose Tyler’s escape from mannequins in a shop and ending with the Tenth Doctor’s sad exit. Lots of glorious things happened, we met some fabulous new monsters, we were introduced to an unprecedented amount of information about companions’ homes and families, and if there were occasional detours into deeply annoying pieces of plot and characterization, there were also many triumphant forays into charming and highly emotional stories. Once Steven Moffat takes over as showrunner, the show gets more complicated; people usually mean by this that the plot becomes convoluted, which I think is only intermittently true, but the approach that the show takes to its characters is, to me, the much bigger leap in terms of complexity. In the Davies era, we had a lot of very emotionally demonstrative characters, who often verbalized their thoughts directly, and who had such expressive faces and body language that they were usually legible to us immediately even if they were refusing to speak about certain feelings. With Moffat in charge, I don’t think that the characters’ emotions are less deeply felt, but I do think that they are less directly expressed, to the point that elements of plot, music, and imagery are far more thoroughly burdened with conveying—sometimes with extreme subtlety, sometimes with banging-you-over-the-head obviousness—the feelings that the characters conceal from each other and occasionally from themselves. This season is not quite as subtext-heavy as the next one, but I do think that, while you can turn your brain off and enjoy much of this season as a compilation of lots of good jokes and some entertaining running around, it does seem like a very different kind of storytelling that fundamentally involves more work for the audience, at least if you want to grasp what’s going on with these characters. I don’t think that this is necessarily a qualitative difference—more directly visible characterization can be brilliant and can be terrible, and the same is true of more subtext-driven work. Sometimes, the Moffat era is smarter, in its indirect character-building, than the Davies era was, and sometimes it is clumsier, but regardless of the result, I do think that the approach is extremely different. With that said, plenty remains the same: the show is fun, the monsters are scary, and, as we start this new season, the Doctor is about to make an endearing new human friend.
The Eleventh Hour: There are two high-stakes situations unfolding very quickly in this episode: the Doctor has twenty minutes to save the Earth from incineration, and the show has about an hour to prove that it can survive without David Tennant. The combined pressures exerted on both the show and its characters result in a frenzied, often breathtaking episode that feels a bit like inhaling five shots of espresso, but it finds just enough moments to slow down and let us appreciate this new array of characters.
Smith is immediately good, but Doctor himself takes a few minutes to win me over. While the initial meeting between the Doctor and tiny Amelia is cute, the long sequence in which the Doctor tries and spits out various foods quickly gets annoying; making a little girl cook what seems like most of the contents of her fridge for him seems like an awfully pushy thing for the Doctor to do in his opening minutes, and the scene puts the Doctor right on the line between quirky and exasperating. At the end of the scene, though, we get the first piece of magic in this fairytaleish season, appearing in the unlikely form of fish fingers and custard. There are quite a few things on Doctor Who that work for reasons that are difficult to articulate—murdery trashcans really shouldn’t be some of the most engaging villains in television history, but somehow they are. Smith, until the end of this scene, has been a mostly likeable presence without quite being able to shake the little voice saying “He seems pretty good, but why did they cast someone so young?” This was my initial reaction to his casting, and continued to be my reaction to his first few minutes, but then he dips bits of fish into a bowl of yellow gloop and why this works is entirely beyond me but suddenly he’s the Doctor. Hi, Eleven.
The Doctor, whose tendency to show off becomes especially troublesome in this regeneration, gets plenty of opportunity to do so here. He gets the attention of world leaders by sending them a proof of Fermat’s theorem and several elaborate pieces of knowledge, he practically revels in the chance to save the world with no TARDIS and a twenty-minute countdown, and his warning to the Atraxi, in which all of the previous Doctors appear, is both a terrific moment and a huge display of vanity. The Doctor refers to his confrontation with the Atraxi as “showtime,” but he’s putting on a show the whole time, and enjoying the performance quite a bit. Even his pep talk to Jeff—“First, you have to be magnificent. You have to make them trust you and get them working…This is when you fly”—seems like something he is saying to himself as much as to the bewildered young man he is addressing. The Tenth Doctor was often a huge spectacle, but he was rarely as self-aware of it or as intentional in building it as this Doctor so immediately is. This means that there is even more potential for aggravation here than in his previous incarnation, but the Eleventh Doctor’s tendency to indulge in performance is so clearly-defined and so easily-perceived by other characters that it plays a slightly different role here than it did before—most notably, it produces problems more often than it solves them. This is one of the rare moments in which his self-glorification really does straightforwardly solve the problem, but it’s just so nice to see glimpses of the previous Doctors just as we’re starting with a new one that I still really like the sequence.
There were a lot of complaints about Amy Pond being introduced to us as a short-skirt-wearing kissogram, which is a reasonable objection. On the one hand, her outfit allows her reunion with the Doctor to take the form of hitting him with a cricket bat, handcuffing him to a radiator, dressing up as a police officer, and communicating with fake police on a fake radio, which is sort of fabulous in itself; I appreciate people who have a proper respect for costumes and props. On the other hand, it really is just an unnecessarily objectifying first look at grown-up Amy, and it invites the audience to sexualize her in a way that hadn’t really happened with the reboot’s previous companions. The decision to have her let her hair down just as she reveals that she’s a kiss-o-gram makes the scene look even more sexualized, and the return to the subject later on at Jeff’s house is just cringeworthy. We really, really didn’t need the Doctor making a judgmental face about Amy’s choice of profession, nor did we need a list of the different people she dresses up as—apparently, she’s been a police officer, a nurse, and a nun. It’s a brief scene, but it really does feel sexist, and it’s an unfortunate distraction from the much more interesting elements of Amy’s personality that we encounter in this episode. (On the subject of gender, it’s also worth pointing out that if you’re on a laptop talking to a group of world leaders, at least one of whom appears to be female, you might want to refer to them by a less gender-specific term than “fellas.”)
Other than the questionable choice of occupation, though, we get a marvelous introduction to Amy here. I particularly like that the companion who’s going to go through pretty much every imaginable faith-related psychological issue over the next couple of seasons is introduced praying to Santa Claus (in April!) It’s a silly moment, but one that shows that her tendency to resort to belief that some sort of miraculous intervention will solve problems is exacerbated by the Doctor but doesn’t originate with him. She’s had many years to obsess about the Doctor, and her long period of disillusionment with him before she even sets foot in the TARDIS means that she reacts very differently from what we’ve seen in other companions. I really like the scene in which she traps him by locking his tie in a car door in spite of the fact that the apocalypse is looming, and I love that there’s no “bigger on the inside” moment when she first enters the TARDIS, just wide-eyed silence. The presence of the Doctor and his time machine is as much a validation of her stubbornness as anything else, and the “Scottish girl in the English village” who clung to her accent in spite of the geographic change already has a complicated relationship to the man whose existence she spent so much time defending. There’s some interesting thematic work connected with her as well: the act of carefully looking is an important element throughout Amy’s time on the show, and the Doctor’s promptings to look for what’s in the corner of her eye create a nice beginning to this, as does the fact that the Atraxi is basically just a giant eyeball.
Amy’s world—a small town with a post office, a hospital, and a duck pond with no ducks—doesn’t look as endearing as Davies-era London often did, but it’s very pleasant and I sort of wish that future episodes had let us spend a bit more time there. I particularly like the Doctor’s frustrated remark that in their current possibly apocalyptic scenario, “We’ve got a post office. And it’s shut!” Rory isn’t especially memorable here, but we get a solid introduction to him. While everyone else is busy filming whatever is happening with the sun, Rory is calmly trying to do the useful thing by recording the inexplicable phenomenon of a walking coma patient, and the impression of Rory as quietly and unostentatiously helpful is a pretty accurate first glimpse of him.
In addition to Amy, Rory, and the Doctor, we’re also introduced to the new TARDIS, who gets possibly the best debut of the four. Debates about who has the best TARDIS entrance generally center on companions, but my answer would be the Eleventh Doctor. I’m really glad that he’s the Doctor who eventually gets to talk to the human TARDIS (in next season’s “The Doctor’s Wife”) because he and the TARDIS somehow manage to have off-the-charts chemistry even while she’s still a machine. His awed “What have you got for me this time?” as he first enters his newly-redecorated TARDIS is my favorite moment of the entire episode, because he delivers the line with such a palpable sense of love that I suddenly get their relationship more than I ever have before. The TARDIS has always been fabulous—I mean, she’s what makes the show possible—and there have been plenty of moments that showcase the Doctor’s emotional connection to his time-space machine, but the end of this episode is the first time that she genuinely seems to me like a real character with a personality. This is partly due to Smith’s reaction, but the camera also shows an unprecedented level of excitement about the buttons and switches, and there’s a spinny thing that made me really want to poke it when I first saw it. (It should be pointed out that Amy does so almost as soon as she enters. Well done, Pond.) It’s like the camera, after years of taking it for granted, suddenly noticed how amazing the control room was, and while I have often wanted to travel on the TARDIS, this episode made me feel much more connected to the TARDIS herself than ever before.
There is so much attention to new characters and spaces here that it’s easy to lose sight of the plot, but it’s a solid one—the Atraxi’s broadcasts to the entire Earth are quite frightening, and Prisoner Zero’s ability to change form is used to good effect. I wish that Olivia Colman had gotten a bit more to do, but she makes the most of a tiny role, looking and sounding tremendously intimidating as one of Prisoner Zero’s bodies. We also get a number of references to upcoming plot points, including the first appearance of the eerie cracks in time and the first mentions of the Silence. As a shift in tone and an introduction to new characters, storylines, and themes, this is a phenomenal piece of writing, and if Moffat had managed to come up with a different job for Amy, this would probably be in my top ten episodes of the reboot. The kissogram nonsense brings the quality down a bit, but it’s still easily the best debut episode for a Doctor in the reboot, and “Spearhead from Space” is really the only episode in the history of the show to compete with it as an introduction to a new Doctor. “Spearhead from Space” is an important predecessor here, in that it, too, marked a huge departure in tone from what had come before. The change here is not as drastic as the shift between “War Games” and “Spearhead,” but it does feel like we’re in a quite different world from the one of the Davies era. It definitely requires some adjustment, but for the most part, the new world looks absolutely stunning. A/A-
The Beast Below: I really disliked this episode the first time I watched it, but there are only a couple of episodes that have grown on me more over time. The Starship UK isn’t among the best worlds this show has portrayed—it’s a bit too wrapped up in generic Police State Surveillance things to be completely enjoyable. (The logic doesn’t really hold up either. Having children fed to the whale because they perform badly in school is horrifying to an extent that doesn’t really gel with the idea that the leaders here are trying to do the least terrible thing possible in an awful ethical dilemma. It’s also pretty stupid that the Starwhale clearly doesn’t eat children, and yet they keep getting sent to it.) The episode manages not to fall too badly into the trap of dystopian dullness, however, in large part because it features a queen wearing a giant, awesome cape who has strewn water glasses all over the floor and is secretly investigating her kingdom. It’s too bad that we only got one episode (and then a tiny cameo at the end of the season) of the marvelous Sophie Okonedo, but she really sells both the Queen’s enjoyment of trying to take down her own government and her eventual guilt when she realizes what she has allowed to happen. She looks, at first, like she’s going to be fabulous and fun but sort of lacking in depth, but by the end I’m really intrigued by her role in the Starship’s moral dilemma. She makes the Starship a much more interesting space, and some very nice direction allows the camera to find some really beautiful moments in the generally pretty drab world. I tend to get annoyed with episodes that take a general approach of “It’s the future, and everything’s terrible! And technology, in particular, is terrible! Look at all the terribleness!!” because it’s just a boring way of creating a new place. Unlike some other episodes, though, the episode mixes a simplistically grim-looking future with some whimsical features and some much more compelling and creative darkness, and so the world of the Starship winds up with a varied enough atmosphere that it mostly works.
The plot itself is solid without being especially original—basically “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” with a whale in it—but it’s a surprisingly hopeful version of this story in several respects. The choice between the agony of the whale and the destruction of the Starship is taken entirely seriously, and the reveal that Liz 10 was behind this all along manages to avoid making her look straightforwardly evil. (Non-misanthropic dystopias are my favorite kind of dystopia.) There are also more options here than there are in “Omelas,” as we see in both the Doctor’s attempted plan and Amy’s actual solution. The absence of the binary decision between tormenting an innocent victim and harming the rest of society means that this isn’t as good as “Omelas” in terms of serving as a thought experiment, but this does allow for a more character-driven story. Smith is not quite as memorable in this episode as he was in the previous one, but he gets both some fun moments of physical comedy and some interesting moments of darkness, particularly in his grief over thinking that he has to murder an innocent creature. He starts to get unnecessarily condescending—he clearly sees that the choice between protecting the whale and protecting the Starship is an impossibly difficult one, so his insistence that he’s taking Amy home after this trip and his infuriated “Nobody human has anything to say to me today!” seem a little bit unjustified. Interestingly, though, he is shown to be wrong almost immediately. He and Liz 10 have sort of the same problem here, in that they both see themselves as the hero, and so the whale is placed into the role of victim, either to be saved or to be abandoned to his continuing misery.
Enter Amy Pond, whose continuing state of awe renders her far more capable of understanding that in this narrative, the Starwhale is, well, the star. Amy gets a huge amount to do in this episode, from cheerfully picking a lock to leaving herself messages about how to rescue the Doctor from having to make a difficult choice. Her delighted reaction to being listed as 1306 years old is adorable, and the scene in which she floats just outside the TARDIS is a beautiful image—so lovely that I’m not even particularly bothered by the unnecessary voiceover. Her resolution to the whale dilemma partly relies on her observational skills, the importance of which is highlighted by the Doctor as soon as they land. “Use your eyes. Notice everything,” he tells her, and her effort to do this definitely helps her to figure out the whale’s actual motives. Mixed in with her observational abilities is her somewhat idolizing view of the Doctor, which shapes her actions in a number of ways. You don’t want your childhood imaginary friend to become morally compromised, and her immediate response to the information about the Starwhale is to leave herself a message to get the Doctor away from the ship, where he would be forced into doing something that might tarnish his image as the perfect hero. Amy eventually does create a compassionate ending, but she was entirely willing to run away and leave the whale there in order to remove the Doctor from a morally ambiguous context. Amy is a character who is defined by her ability to believe—she puts her faith in the Doctor to an extent that allows them to develop a wonderful sense of trust, but that also can become dangerous because of how fervent that faith is. Her belief in the Doctor shapes her reading of the Starwhale here; she is so committed to her vision of a perfect Doctor that she sees the whale through that lens, and is willing to take a huge, possibly catastrophic leap as a result. As it turns out, she’s right—the whale really is too kind to let down the Starship passengers. If she’d been wrong, though, she would not only have killed herself and the Doctor but also the entire population of the Starship. It’s a great introduction to the mind of Amy Pond—fundamentally good and kind and trusting, but in a way that carries quite a lot of risk with it. What I really like about this is that the Doctor doesn’t just need a human perspective, he needs Amy’s in particular; what she does here is so specific to her personality and mentality that it really does seem unique to her, and I don’t think we’ve ever had quite this much information about a companion’s mindset by her second episode before.
The problem with this episode is that Moffat doesn’t quite seem to be able to trust the intelligence of his audience. In fairness, there are some pretty subtle things here, including the first reference to silence in relation to emotional pain, but there’s also a tendency to over-repeat important points to a ridiculous extent. We spend too much time watching Amy flash back to the clues that help her put together the real nature of the whale, and then once she’s figured it out, she goes on about kind, lonely creatures who are the last of their species for about five years. The notion of Starwhale=Doctor isn’t a very complicated one, even for a show with lots of children watching, so the decision to keep the dialogue one tiny hop away from “The cast of Schoolhouse Rock shows up and sings a song called Metaphors Are Your Friend Also Do You Get How the Whale Represents the Doctor” is just completely unnecessary, as is the poem that Amy recites at the end.
Other than the poem and the belaboring of the point, the ending has some lovely moments. The hug really solidifies the connection between Amy and the Doctor, and the final scene on the TARDIS, in which Amy answers a phone call from Winston Churchill, is an absolute joy. On the whole, the episode does a stellar job of conveying the nuances of Amy’s emotional state, and it gives us one of the season’s best guest characters in Liz 10. If the details and logic of this world had been ironed out a bit more, and Moffat had written the ending with anything approaching subtlety, restraint, or basic faith in his audience’s intellect, this could have been a great episode, but even with these errors, it’s still a very enjoyable one. B
Victory of the Daleks: For a while, until disaster strikes and everything collapses into multi-colored nonsense, this episode seems like a return to form for the Daleks. The show’s most famous villains had a mixed run in the Davies era: they’re brilliant and terrifying in Season One, kind of fun but shoehorned into the plot in Season Two, an absolute mess in Season Three, and even in Season Four, when they improve a bit, they get slightly buried under the avalanche of plot and character things happening in the finale. In the first twenty minutes of this episode, the Daleks are sensational: terrifying, visually fascinating, and deeply unsettling in their uncharacteristic subservience. (This isn’t the first time that the Daleks have masqueraded as servants, as this was a thing in “The Power of the Daleks” as well. We only have that in animated form, though, since it was erased, and so it’s nice to have the creepy visual of tea-serving Daleks here.) I love having the Daleks fight Nazis, on whom they were initially based, and the hidden threat contained in their stated ambition of “win[ning] the war” is fantastic, although slightly diminished by having the Doctor explain the double meaning a few minutes later. The reveal that Bracewell is a robot that they constructed in order to explain their presence is terrific, and they have a solid plan for getting the Doctor to inadvertently help them. (I mean, if you’re a Dalek and your plan relies on the Doctor’s tendency to grandstand about his longstanding rivalry with your species, you can feel pretty confident about your chances of success.) Even after they have stopped pretending to be Ironsides, the Daleks do some intensely creepy stuff, like turning all the lights on during an air raid.
The triumphant portrayal of Daleks in the early scenes of the episode makes it even more disappointing that the climax of their plan involves intimidating the world by…changing color. Moffat has said in interviews that he was too focused on the first block of filming, and didn’t shift his attention soon enough to the second block, which included this episode, and so he didn’t put enough thought into evaluating how these new Daleks looked on camera. This is a plausible enough thing, particularly for someone in his first season as showrunner, but I can’t imagine what even prompted the initial idea to do this to the Daleks in the first place. There was nothing wrong with the existing appearance of the Daleks, and this redesign just makes me think of the song in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat where they list all the colors. (“It was red and yellow and green and brown and scarlet and black and ochre and peach and ruby and olive and violet and fawn etc.” and then in the film version there are eventually multi-colored sheep.) There has been some variety in the Daleks’ appearance across the history of the show, but this is easily the silliest and least frightening that they have ever looked.
Other than the Daleks themselves, the episode is uneven in terms of quality. The portrayal of Churchill is pretty one-dimensional and doesn’t acknowledge the many ways in which he was a quite problematic figure, but he’s entertaining and the World War II-era atmosphere is nicely established. This is probably Smith’s weakest outing among the early episodes of this season, perhaps due to some awkward writing of his initial rage against the Daleks. He does, however, try to confuse the Daleks by pretending that a jammy dodger is a self-destruct device, which is awesome. I’m pretty tired, at this point, of “The Doctor must choose between destroying the Daleks and preserving the Earth” as a plot point, though, even as a fairly minor one. Enough with this for a while. Amy continues to be an appealing presence, but she doesn’t get anywhere near the kind of depth that she had in the previous episode. She is pretty heavily involved in the resolution of the plot, but her ability to talk Bracewell through his feelings really just reveals that she is developing a crush on the Doctor—not an aspect of this season that I enjoy. Bracewell is an intriguing character, and the notion that having human memories makes him a real person accords nicely with the focus on memories as soul throughout the Moffat era, but the ending doesn’t make sense. It’s not unreasonable to say that a robot capable of deep emotion might philosophically be considered human, but in this case it would still be a human with considerable physical differences, including a bomb inside. There’s just no reason for the character’s emotional awakening to disrupt the physical process that the Daleks have set in motion, so the last-minute escape from destruction seems unearned. The decision to let him run off and carry on being human makes for a cute scene, though, and the episode concludes with a nicely-done reappearance of the crack from Amy’s wall, as well as the intriguing realization that Amy ought to remember who the Daleks are but clearly doesn’t.
This episode is often offered as evidence that Mark Gatiss isn’t a good Doctor Who writer, which honestly I think is a bit unjustified. As I said in my review of “Idiot’s Lantern,” I do tend to like Gatiss’s writing of more realistic stories, like Sherlock and An Adventure in Space and Time, much more than I like his work on sci-fi stories. That being said, if the Dalek redesign didn’t look so idiotic, I would think of this as a pretty good episode, slightly let down by an illogical ending. While there are other flaws, there really is quite a lot that I enjoy here, and the one thing that completely capsizes the episode is the appearance of the Daleks, which Gatiss presumably wasn’t responsible for. It’s difficult to grade this episode, because it involves balancing a lot of good moments against some incredibly stupid decisions; on the whole, I think of this as a weak episode, but I don’t think I dislike it as much as some fans do. C+/C
The Time of Angels: This episode probably features more terrifying things than any other episode of the reboot. The Angel’s slow emergence from the television screen is creepy enough, but the gravel pouring out of Amy’s eye is the stuff of absolute nightmares. The Angel’s use of Bob’s voice is also enormously chilling—I would not want to hear an actual Angel’s voice, as that would take away from the mysteriousness of the species, but having it use a human’s voice and even make use of some of his thoughts means that the Angel conveys a lot of malice while retaining its elusive nature. The conversation is nicely structured too, so that we initially think it’s really Bob talking until we hear “I didn’t escape, sir. It killed me too.” The very best moment, though, is the reveal that they have inadvertently surrounded themselves with Angels; the Doctor introduces the two-headed nature of the Applans so casually that it just didn’t register to me, and I audibly gasped when the Angels’ presence became clear. (I am usually a very, very silent TV-watcher, so it takes a lot to get a vocal reaction from me.) It’s a perfect example of how easy it is to endanger oneself by simple misinterpretation—the notion that an Angel would hide amongst statues seemed so plausible that the possibility of another way of looking at the scenario just never occurred to me.
While this is an extremely plot-twist-heavy episode, it does some interesting work with the characters. I really like the army of clerics, especially the Bishop in charge, who is beautifully played by Iain Glen. There are plenty of reasons to be dubious about a church that has evolved into a military, but what I like about the portrayal of these figures here is that the Doctor basically treats them like he does any other slightly odd civilization by just sort of getting on with the work that he’s trying to do. The idea of an overtly militant church is allowed to be unsettling without the Doctor doing an entire production number about how terrible they are, and the episode goes along with this by making the Bishop a figure of considerable integrity. It’s also a nice touch that we get both a religious army and a mass of angel statues in a season that largely deals with the (over)development of Amy’s faith.
River makes quite an entrance, burning a message into an artifact and then, once she lands on the TARDIS, being much better at actually flying her than the Doctor is and provoking a hilarious TARDIS-landing-noise imitation from him. I do think that her exchange with the men on the spaceship at the beginning gets a bit over-sexualized, both in the dialogue and in the closeup on her stilettos, but once we get past that scene she’s terrific, especially in her interactions with Amy. There’s an easy sense of connection between the two, which makes sense given later revelations, and I like that Amy seems intrigued by River’s relationship with the Doctor without appearing jealous. Amy herself also really impresses me by figuring out how to neutralize the TV Angel by pausing the clip on an Angel-free moment, and her brief spell of believing that her arm has turned to stone is a chilling scene that ends in hilarity as she questions whether the Doctor has “space teeth.”
The end of the episode allows the Doctor to do his usual yelling at monsters about how scared of him they should be, but it also gives some attention to his relationship with Amy. The revelation that Bob’s voice is actually an Angel is a scary plot twist in itself, but what’s even more interesting about this conversation is that it plays very precisely upon Amy’s fears. It’s unsettling to hear Angel Bob use the Doctor’s words about fear against him, saying that his fear did nothing for him and that the Doctor obtained his trust and then let him down. Amy has had more occasion than most companions to think about her level of trust in the Doctor, given his long abandonment of her, and the camera occasionally cuts back to her nervous expression as the Angel continues to taunt the Doctor about his betrayal of that trust. As the episode draws to a close, the Doctor gets everyone to reaffirm their faith in him—to take, in fact, a very literal leap of faith—but while the characters make this leap willingly, there remains a persistent sense of doubt about whether or not their faith is warranted. A/A-
Flesh and Stone: The Dalek episode was difficult to grade, but this one is nearly impossible, as most of it is amazing but the last scene is absolutely dreadful. I’m not sure if any other episode of the show has ever collapsed in on itself in its final moments quite as much as this one does; I mean, I had a huge problem with the end of “Love and Monsters,” but while the last scene is the worst part of that episode, it started to decline in quality about two-thirds of the way through, while this one is generally terrific until its very last minute.
Until the final scene, there is a great deal to love here. A lot of absolutely terrifying things happen in this two-parter, but Amy’s slow countdown from ten is probably what scares me the most. It doesn’t lose any of its impact on rewatch, even though I know that it’s coming and what it means. The subsequent need to keep her eyes shut also makes for a lot of good drama, although her ability to avoid being sent back in time by the Angels by pretending she can see, even with her eyes closed, requires quite a bit of suspension of disbelief. As far-fetched as it is, though, I can’t watch it without holding my breath, and having to walk through danger without being able to see creates yet another test of her trust in the Doctor. (It reminded me a bit of those trust exercises they made us do in school, where you put on a blindfold and had to wander around the hallway guided by your partner’s voice. I have painful memories of almost falling down the stairs.) In fact, for a while, so many great things are happening that it takes a bit of an effort to properly appreciate them as they whiz by: the clerics use their guns to create short bursts of light so that they can see the Angels with the lights off! There’s a forest on a spaceship! With tree borgs! The Doctor gets Angel Bob to say “comfy chairs!” The clerics keep disappearing and only Amy can remember that they ever existed! The Doctor finds out part of River’s background! The Angels show up in a big scary tableau! The Doctor enters in a slightly altered costume, looking very mysterious while telling Amy to believe in him and to remember what he told her as a child! My favorite, though, is probably the scene in which the Doctor and River try to figure out how to stop Amy’s ominous countdown. The Doctor and Amy don’t know it yet, but River knows that she’s with her husband and her mother, and looking back on it with knowledge from future seasons I just think it’s a beautiful interaction between their family. River and Amy continue to have a lovely connection, and they work so well together that the episode leaves us not only with the usual questions about who River is to the Doctor but also with new questions about who she is to Amy.
As in the last episode, there are a lot of terrifying moments with the Angels, but there are also slightly too many new developments. The worst of these is the moment in which we watch them actually turn their heads, which is the one total miscalculation that Moffat makes with the Angels in this two-parter. Part of the creepy charm of these characters is that we see where they were and then how far they’ve progressed in the blink of an eye, and I like that “Blink” left open the possibility that they essentially became something utterly different when no one was looking. Having the Angels just kill people instead of sending them back in time also isn’t as interesting, but it does lead to Bishop Octavian getting one of my very favorite death scenes of a single-story character in the whole reboot. Smith does some really beautiful work in this last exchange with Octavian, and their final words—“I wish I had known you better” and “I think, sir, you know me at my best” make for a really moving end to the character. He returns to his faith at the end, as well, saying that he thanks God for his own courage and for the Doctor’s safety, and for all that I think a militant church is all kinds of bad ideas, I really like how sincerely devoted Octavian is to his work and beliefs.
The time crack could have benefited from just a little bit more explanation—it’s not entirely clear to me exactly what it means to never have existed, and whether this involves people’s memories being erased or the actual erasure of all of the effects that they had. (It seems to mostly be the former, but it could definitely be a lot clearer.) The clerics disappearing into it one by one is genuinely frightening, though, and it’s good continuity that the Doctor realizes that throwing a major time event (like himself) into the time energy would seal things up, as this becomes important later on. The resolution to the Angel plot also stretches plausibility a bit—it’s not the first time that the show has suggested that holding on really tight can completely offset exceedingly strong gravitational forces, and my science knowledge is limited but it always seems questionable to me. Still, I appreciate that the previous episode established the gravity turning off as a real possibility, which makes the moment more believable than it would otherwise be.
And then there’s that last scene. Introducing a sort of love triangle between the Doctor, Amy, and Rory is a stupid enough idea to begin with, but the details of the scene make it even worse than necessary. I get that trauma can make people lose their judgment a bit, but Amy’s efforts to seduce the Doctor don’t read like someone who is shaken up and making questionable decisions, they just come across as a male fantasy of an attractive woman suddenly becoming desperate for sex. She’s so aggressive in trying to get with the Doctor—even persisting in her attempts to kiss him after he has resisted—that the whole thing is just exploitative and objectifying to a ridiculous extent. Sexual attraction between a Doctor and companion generally isn’t my favorite thing in the first place, but creating a love triangle between Amy, the Doctor, and Rory is even worse, especially with the added drama of Amy trying to seduce the Doctor on the night before her wedding. Her connection to the Doctor has so far been fascinating and unique, and this just rewrites it as something much, much less interesting. It makes this episode difficult to evaluate, because in spite of a couple of unnecessary new details about the Angels, there is so much loveliness before this scene, but this ridiculous ending is enough to bring my opinion of the episode way down. B-
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[REPELIS!]™ — The Tax Collector Pelicula Completa en Español
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Production companies: Fast Horse Pictures, Kodiak Pictures, Cedar Park Entertainment
Distributor: RLJE Films (select theaters, VOD, digital)
Cast: Bobby Soto, Cinthya Carmona, George Lopez, Shia LaBeouf, Elpidia Carrillo, Lana Parrilla, David Castañeda, Conejo, Cheyenne Rae Hernandez, Cle Sloan, Noemi Gonzalez, Juan Carlos Cantu, Chelsea Rendon, Rene Moran
Director-screenwriter: David Ayer
Producers: Chris Long, David Ayer, Tyler Thompson, Matt Antoun
Executive producers: Douglas Duncan, Buddy Patrick, Steve Matzkin, Misook Doolittle, Sarah Schroeder-Matzkin, Mickey Gooch, Jr., Doug McKay, Cindy Bond, Todd Williams
Director of photography: Salvatore Totino
Production designer: Andrew Menzies
Costume designer: Kelli Jones
Music: Michael Yezerski
Editor: Geoffrey O'Brien
Casting: Mary Vernieu, Lindsay Graham-Ahanonu
SINOPSIS
No se sabe nada acerca del argumento de esta cinta de acción y crímen que, aparentemente, seguirá la línea de dos de los trabajos anteriores de David Ayer: Training Day y Sin Tregua (End of Watch).
La cinta está dirigida, pues, por David Ayer (Escuadrón Suicida, Bright) y protagonizada por Shia LaBeouf (Honey Boy, The Peanut Butter Falcon), Bobby Soto (For the People, S.W.A.T. Los hombres de Harrelson), Chelsea Randon (Nueve vidas, Urgencias), Cinthya Carmona (The Fix, Greenhouse Academy) y Lana Parrilla (Érase una vez, Chase).
'The Tax Collector': Film Review
Violent Los Angeles street culture on both sides of the law has been an abiding fascination in David Ayer's output, notably in his bruising screenplay for Training Day and his nervy, documentary-style cop drama, End of Watch. The buddy dynamic and gritty milieu of that 2012 film invigorate the best elements of The Tax Collector, the writer-director's return to a smaller-scale project after taking a critical hammering with the big-budget, high-concept outings of Suicide Squad and Netflix's Bright. "So why another L.A. crime movie?" asks Ayer in his Director's Statement. Why, indeed.
Despite a lot of admirable aims, such as creating layered roles for the Latino acting community and spending production dollars in areas that could benefit from the economic boost, this grim bloodbath feels too routine to be of much interest.
The well-acted film is shot by Salvatore Totino with impressive dexterity, capturing the urban sprawl of L.A. with a sharp eye and deft ability to build textured atmosphere, and Geoffrey O'Brien's editing shows an equally propulsive hand. But almost everything about this mean-streets action thriller feels familiar and a touch self-important, starting with its heralding of the sacred code blasted over a portrait of protagonist David (Bobby Soto) with his beautiful wife and angelic kids: "Love. Honor. Loyalty. Family."
The vaunted authenticity legitimized by Ayer's upbringing in South L.A. in the 1970s and '80s in this case doesn't mean he has a fresh perspective. The conflict of a loyal lieutenant in a criminal organization who compartmentalizes his life into hard-core career thug on one side, devoted paterfamilias on the other — "God allows me to walk from the darkness and come back into the light," says David — by now seems a standard gangster trope. As soon as that's established, we know exactly where he's going to feel the pain.
While Soto (Narcos: Mexico) makes a reasonably charismatic lead, the more magnetic character is his sidekick, a twitchy killing machine known as Creeper (Shia LaBeouf, reuniting with Ayer after Fury). Encased in figure-hugging skinny suits, Mafia-grade sunglasses and just the right amount of bling, LaBeouf goes full Method with his flavorful dialogue and wired physicality, whether Creeper is extolling the virtues of his smelly protein diet, musing on the value of morning meditation and the meaninglessness of God in his universe or simply itching to stop talking and spill some blood. The actor builds a fully formed character that suggests an intriguing backstory, giving off sparks in his every scene.
Regrettably, that's not so much the case with the more generically drawn David and his wife Alexis (Cinthya Carmona), who is perceived as being safely outside the family's criminal operations but has enough of a stake in the business to know what's what. She certainly has no qualms about calling on David to put the fear of death into the "Mexican Kardashians" holding up work on their daughter's quinceañera dress, and she oversees the weekly tally of protection money collected by David and Creeper from 43 different L.A. street gangs.
Alexis is also the point person who communicates directly with Wizard, the overlord of the crime organization whose current situation (along with the unbilled famous name playing the role) is revealed in the film's closing scene.
'Tax Collector' Trailer Reteams Shia LaBeouf and David Ayer
David's connection to Wizard becomes apparent only gradually, once an old rival of the crime boss returns from Mexico intent on reshaping the street-gang landscape according to his own rules. That hostile interloper, Conejo (borrowing the rapper name of Jose Martin, who plays the role with maximum menace), takes pleasure in reminding David how he's still a glorified errand boy instead of a fully-fledged made man.
Conejo first extends a hand offering David an executive role in his burgeoning empire. When that offer is declined, Conejo sends a brutal message via David's drug dealer Uncle Louis (comedian George Lopez, bringing understated snarl to a dramatic role). "I'm the future and you're the past," Conejo warns David, later adding, "Everything you love is gonna die."
While David prays to Jesus to keep his family and their palatial Spanish-style home safe, Conejo's religious rituals make Santeria look like Sunday school. The movie veers into grotesquerie as he prays at an unholy altar for protection in the oncoming turf war, bathing in the blood of a human sacrifice in a room that looks like Keith Haring threw a Dia de los Muertos party.
This might have been lurid fun from a director who didn't take it all so seriously, even if it's in questionable taste at a time when the White House administration has done everything in its power to demonize Latin American immigrants. There's little leeway for dark humor in Ayer's world, though I did get a kick out of Conejo's lady friend Gata (Cheyenne Rae Hernandez). Licking her lips lasciviously, the aptly named feline fiend can lob explosives and rain bullets from a semi-automatic all while skipping about on vertiginous heels. And you don't even want to know about her skills with a hammer. But Gata is a figure out of a Robert Rodriguez grindhouse world stuck in a fundamentally realist realm.
The inevitable faceoff between Conejo's goons and Wizard's is plenty bloody, intercut with Conejo's Satanic prayers. But the sequence feels almost perfunctory, yielding few surprises for a director with the sinewy action command Ayer has shown in the past. Pretty much everything that follows becomes both predictable and a little too easy as David musters all his force to protect what's most precious to him, calling on help from the leader of a Bloods gang (Cle Sloan) in his showdown with Conejo.
Earlier scenes have sketched in David's strategic ability to accrue loyalty as well as the humanity he shows when one gang rep's payment shortfall is explained by the medical expenses of his chronically ill daughter. But Ayer seems to be laboring under the misapprehension that the family-oriented gangster is something new in movies, along with the conflicted cycle of intergenerational violence. When blood-drenched David starts spouting hackneyed dialogue like "For my family, I live. For my family, I die. For my family, I kill," it's hard to stifle a groan. And the incorporation of the Zen aspects of Jiu Jitsu into his climactic fight is too flimsy to add anything.
Ayer drives the action along efficiently enough to the churning dread of Michael Yezerski's score. But there's too little depth to make you care about the characters and too little imagination at work to make The Tax Collector pay.
Production companies: Fast Horse Pictures, Kodiak Pictures, Cedar Park Entertainment
Distributor: RLJE Films (select theaters, VOD, digital)
Cast: Bobby Soto, Cinthya Carmona, George Lopez, Shia LaBeouf, Elpidia Carrillo, Lana Parrilla, David Castañeda, Conejo, Cheyenne Rae Hernandez, Cle Sloan, Noemi Gonzalez, Juan Carlos Cantu, Chelsea Rendon, Rene Moran
Director-screenwriter: David Ayer
Producers: Chris Long, David Ayer, Tyler Thompson, Matt Antoun
Executive producers: Douglas Duncan, Buddy Patrick, Steve Matzkin, Misook Doolittle, Sarah Schroeder-Matzkin, Mickey Gooch, Jr., Doug McKay, Cindy Bond, Todd Williams
Director of photography: Salvatore Totino
Production designer: Andrew Menzies
Costume designer: Kelli Jones
Music: Michael Yezerski
Editor: Geoffrey O'Brien
Casting: Mary Vernieu, Lindsay Graham-Ahanonu
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Grammys 2020: Kobe Bryant’s Death Stuns Before the Ceremony
Lady Gaga and Beyoncé are early winners.
All but nine of the Grammys’ 84 awards were given out before the television broadcast, in a separate “premiere” ceremony that was plagued by celebrity absences — but also featured non-stars celebrating how a Grammy win can be a career-defining moment.
Early prizes were sprinkled among Lizzo, Eilish, Lil Nas X, Lady Gaga and Beyoncé, with none taking a clear lead. Lizzo won two prizes: urban contemporary album for the deluxe version of “Cuz I Love You” and traditional R&B performance in the song “Jerome.” Lil Nas X’s “Old Town Road” — the “country-trap” hybrid that became a chart phenomenon last year and ignited debate about the blurring of genre — won best pop/duo group performance in its remix with the country star Billy Ray Cyrus.
“Old Town Road” also took best music video, while Beyoncé’s concert special “Homecoming” won best music film. Michelle Obama won best spoken word album for the audio version of her book “Becoming.” The former first lady was not present to accept the honor; the jazz bassist Esperanza Spalding, a presenter, said, “I will proudly accept this on her behalf.”
Gary Clark Jr., a guitarist adored by critics and rock and blues purists, won three awards. His album “This Land” took best contemporary blues album, while the title track from that release won best rock song and best rock performance.
The early ceremony featured some landmarks. Gloria Gaynor, the disco diva who won in 1980 for her anthem “I Will Survive,” took home her first award since then — best roots gospel album, for “Testimony.” Tracy Young became the first woman to win the best remixed recording category for a version of Madonna’s “I Rise.” “We’ve shattered the glass ceiling together,” Young said when accepting the award. “I proudly accept this on behalf of all female producers who have been overlooked.”
Tanya Tucker, the 61-year-old country singer, won the first Grammys of her career, taking best country album for “While I’m Livin’,” her first release in a decade, and best country song for “Bring My Flowers Now.”
Nipsey Hussle, the rapper who died last March at 33, won his first Grammy for “Racks in the Middle,” which took best rap performance. Family members spoke, including his grandmother, who said: “I wanted to thank all of you for showing all the love that I have felt for him all of his life and will always live in my heart. So thank you, thank you, thank you.” Hussle is to be celebrated during the telecast in a performance segment scheduled to include Kirk Franklin, DJ Khaled, John Legend, Meek Mill, Roddy Ricch and YG.
News of Kobe Bryant’s death stuns the Grammys.
In the lead-up to the televised show Sunday afternoon, the news that Kobe Bryant died in a helicopter crash at 41 led to gasps in the press room. The Grammys take place at the Staples Center, where Bryant played nearly his entire career with the Los Angeles Lakers; championship banners he helped the team win hang from the building’s rafters.
“In Staples Arena, where Kobe created so many memories for all of us, preparing to pay tribute to another brilliant man we lost too soon, Nipsey Hussle,” John Legend wrote on Twitter. “Life can be so brutal and senseless sometimes.”
Flags outside the arena were lowered to half-staff as preparations for the event continued, and lights shined on Bryant’s jerseys inside. Harvey Mason Jr., the chairman and interim chief of the Recording Academy, called for a moment of silence.
“Since we are in his house, I would ask you to join me in a moment of silence,” Mason said, The Associated Press reported.
Beyond the Grammy glitz, a battle is raging behind the scenes.
Intense drama hangs over the 62nd annual Grammy Awards ceremony on Sunday night, but not in ways that the Recording Academy, the nonprofit behind the show, would like.
This year’s event, which will be broadcast live on CBS at 8 p.m. Eastern, features a fresh crop of stars like Lizzo, Billie Eilish, Lil Nas X and Ariana Grande competing for the top awards. It was supposed to represent “a new era for the Recording Academy,” one that would be more attuned to pop’s current pulse after years of bruising criticism over the Grammys’ poor record in recognizing women and artists of color in the major categories.
That “new era” statement was made just two months ago, when nominations were announced, by Deborah Dugan, the academy’s new chief executive. She had been telegraphed as the bold new leader the Grammys needed, and came armed with an unsparing critique of the academy’s record on diversity by Michelle Obama’s former chief of staff, the Time’s Up leader Tina Tchen.
But just 10 days ago, Dugan was removed from her position, stunning the industry and plunging the normally cheery pre-Grammy week into mudslinging and chaos that has threatened to overshadow the event itself.
Dugan claimed in a 44-page complaint to the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission that she had been retaliated against for uncovering misconduct including sexual harassment, vote rigging and rampant conflicts of interest. The academy, in turn, said that an assistant had complained about a toxic and bullying work environment, and that Dugan had demanded a $22 million payoff to leave quietly, a charge Dugan has denied.
Their battle may stretch on for months. For the academy itself — and the artists now rehearsing their performances and acceptance speech shout-outs — the show must go on. But the entire music industry will be watching closely for any sign of artist dissent or any crack in the academy’s facade of celebratory glitz.
While artists have largely remained silent, one of the few public comments from a major industry figure came Saturday night from the hip-hop mogul Diddy.
Accepting an award at Clive Davis’s glamorous annual pre-Grammys party, Diddy avoided mentioning Dugan by name but criticized the academy for its failure to recognize hip-hop artists of color in the top categories. Over the last decade, for example, just one nonwhite artist — Bruno Mars — has won album of the year.
“Truth be told, hip-hop has never been respected by the Grammys; black music has never been respected by the Grammys to the point that it should be,” Diddy said. “For years, we have allowed institutions that have never had our best interests at heart to judge us. And that stops right now.”
He added: “You’ve got 365 days’ notice to get this [expletive] together.”
Lizzo leads a crop of young nominees.
For music fans, the Grammys are a television show about splashy performances and, oh yes, a handful of awards scattered across three and a half hours. There may be no mention at all of the academy’s behind-the-scenes crisis.
The biggest contests this year feature some of pop’s most dynamic young faces, many of whom went from obscurity to mega-stardom over the past year.
Lizzo, a charismatic and outspoken pop and R&B singer who has fascinated fans and critics alike, is this year’s most nominated artist, with eight nods. She and the 18-year-old alternative dynamo Billie Eilish, who has a total of six nominations, are each up in all four top categories — album, record and song of the year and best new artist.
Lil Nas X, the internet meme virtuoso whose “country-trap” hybrid “Old Town Road” became a cultural phenomenon last year, is also up for six awards, including record and album of the year, and best new artist. If he wins big, it could be a statement by the academy’s voters that they want to shed their conservative reputation and fully embrace the most up-to-the-minute trends. That does not seem super likely.
Other big contenders include Ariana Grande, Lana Del Rey, Bon Iver and Vampire Weekend. Taylor Swift is up for just one major award: song of the year for “Lover.”
Big names will perform, but Taylor Swift is no longer one of them.
At the music industry’s schmoozy pre-Grammy parties last week in Los Angeles, the insider chatter has all been about Dugan versus the academy. But, for the most part, the events have been business as usual. Few people expect the show to be affected.
Still, a top musician signaling a position on Dugan’s claims could change the conversation entirely. Label executives and publicists have been wringing their hands over what their artists might be asked — and what they might say — on the red carpet or onstage.
And while the lineup of performers appears to be steady, the industry was riveted on Friday with reports that Swift would not appear. But why? Was Swift — always an outspoken backer of women — dropping out in protest, or was she simply unprepared or uninterested? Everyone, including fans and the most powerful people in music, was left to guess.
The performances planned for the show include tributes to Prince and the rapper Nipsey Hussle; an “Old Town Road All-Stars” segment with Lil Nas X, Billy Ray Cyrus, BTS, Diplo and Mason Ramsey, the so-called Walmart yodeling kid; and appearances by Grande, Eilish, Lizzo, Rosalía, Aerosmith, the Jonas Brothers and Tyler, the Creator.
The producer who shaped 40 years of Grammy shows says farewell.
This year’s show will be the last for Ken Ehrlich, who has produced the Grammys telecast since 1980 and is largely responsible for the show’s signature presentation style — the “Grammy moments” strategy of pairing artists together for special appearances, going back to Neil Diamond and Barbra Streisand doing “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” 40 years ago.
Ehrlich has lived — and scrambled — through some of the Grammys’ most bizarre moments, like the “soy bomb” dancer crashing Bob Dylan’s performance in 1998. He has also frequently been the target of criticism that the show is out of touch and too often favors late-career stars at the expense of younger faces and more current nominees. Exhibit A: the 2018 show’s preponderance of Sting and absence of Lorde, who had been up for album of the year.
Ehrlich has always said that his mandate is to put on a varied and imaginative show, not simply to parade the current nominees. Viewers may consider that this year when he presents his swan song, a recreation of the ensemble performance of “I Sing the Body Electric” from the 1980 film “Fame,” featuring performances by Joshua Bell, Camila Cabello, Gary Clark Jr., Common, Misty Copeland, Lang Lang, Cyndi Lauper, John Legend and others.
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DC TV Watch: Comic-Con Announcements Explained
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DC TV Watch: Comic-Con Announcements Explained
Welcome to The Hollywood Reporter‘s weekly DC TV Watch, a rundown of all things DC Comics on TV. Every Friday, we round up the major twists, epic fights, new mysteries and anything else that goes down on The CW’s Arrow, The Flash, Legends of Tomorrow, Supergirl and Black Lightning and Fox’s Gotham. Note: Gotham, Supergirl, The Flash, Arrow and Legends of Tomorrow are on hiatus until the new seasons return in the fall, and Black Lightning will premiere midseason. This week, we’re breaking down all the news that came out of Comic-Con and what it all means.
Gotham
Prodigal daughter returns | Teen Wolf alum Crystal Reed joins season four as Don Falcone’s (John Doman) daughter Sofia Falcone, who has been running the mob family business in the south for the past decade. Described as strong, intelligent and calculating, she’s brought back to Gotham to help Gordon (Ben McKenzie) take down Penguin (Robin Lord Taylor).
Arrival of the real Scarecrow | The trailer released during Comic-Con revealed the arrival of DC Comics villain Scarecrow with the tagline, “Gotham will know fear.” Viewers remember that the Scarecrow’s father Gerald Crane (Julian Sands) was introduced on the show back in season one with his teenage son Jonathan (who comic book fans know is the real Scarecrow), but there’s no word yet on who is underneath the hood just yet. Will the true Scarecrow finally debut, or is this another red herring?
Babs’ resurrection | As we predicted, Babs (Erin Richards) did not die in the season three finale. Or, she did die, but will come back in season four … as someone different. Her hardcore, subdued new look in the trailer teases a kind of transformation for the formerly maniacal villain. Does this mean she isn’t the proto-Harley Quinn she was rumored to be last season?
Check out the sizzle reel from last season, including about one minute of new footage for season four, below:
youtube
Supergirl
A new suit | Adrian Pasdar’s casting got the biggest cheers during the Comic-Con panel, and he’ll be playing villain Morgan Edge, a “ruthless real estate developer.” Comic book fans know Edge as the owner of a media corporation with holdings like the Daily Planet, where he often comes into contact with Clark Kent (Tyler Hoechlin). Now that The CW has changed Edge’s backstory, how will he interact with Kara (Melissa Benoist)? Will he just serve as an antagonist to Supergirl, or will he somehow come into Kara’s orbit as well? It’s also interesting to note that one version of Edge in the comics is African-American, but Supergirl did not go that route onscreen.
Potential new crossover | Psi’s (Yael Grogblas) debut on Supergirl presents an interesting potential for crossovers with another Arrow-verse series, as the DC Comics villain shared some time with The Thinker (aka The Flash‘s new villain) on the Suicide Squad. It’s more likely that Supergirl will just tell the story of Psi believing that Supergirl is the villain “Decay,” before realizing she’s the villain herself, and has been listening to her own fears all along.
Relationship updates | While it was established in the season three trailer that Kara will be focusing on herself and not getting a new love interest, the fact that Chris Wood, who plays Mon-El, was on the panel means her Daxamite boyfriend will be back at some point. Will Kara be able to open her heart again when he returns, or will she go full dark by then? As for “Sanvers,” it was heartening to hear new showrunners Jessica Queller and Robert Rovner promise that although Floriana Lima has a diminished role this season, Maggie and Alex (Chyler Leigh) “have an amazing beautiful story to tell that really honors the love between these two women.” Many were worried that Lima’s demotion from series regular to recurring meant their relationship was doomed, but as one of the few LGBTQ relationships told responsibly onscreen, that would be a mistake for the series to break them up. And James Olsen (Mehcad Brooks) will be getting a new love interest, the first since he and Kara broke up in the season two premiere.
The Flash
Heartbreak ahead | Casting news spells trouble for both Caitlin (Danielle Panabaker) and Cisco (Carlos Valdes). Tom Felton, who plays Caitlin’s love interest Julian, will not be back as a series regular in season four. The Harry Potter alum did not attend Comic-Con with the cast, has not booked a return to the show and isn’t seen at all in the trailer for the new season, so it’s unclear whether or not he’ll be back at all. EW first reported this news. As for Cisco’s love interest Gypsy (Jessica Camacho), despite her father Breacher (played by Danny Trejo) debuting this season, Camacho has just joined NBC’s Taken as a series regular in season two, meaning her time on The CW series is limited. TVLine first reported this news.
Caitllin … Frost? | Getting a big cheers during the panel, the appearance of Killer Frost in the trailer was a huge hit. But Panabaker revealed that she’s playing a combination of Caitlin Snow and Killer Frost this season, the metahuman version of herself who isn’t a villain. She’ll be a part of Team Flash, but there’s no telling how she’ll get along (or fight) her former friends moving forward. It’s a relief to finally see the series address the narrative plot hole of why other metahumans like Barry (Grant Gustin) are still the same person they were before the particle accelerator explosion, unlike Caitlin who turned into a murderer immediately.
Running as fast as she can | But it was Iris (Candice Patton) who got the biggest cheers during the trailer debut, as it was revealed that she is taking Barry’s request to keep running without him there to heart. She’s now the de facto leader of Team Flash and while she misses her fiance, she’s looking forward. She isn’t wallowing on the couch, she’s fighting crime. She’s truly the strongest person on the team and keeping everyone afloat during Barry’s absence. This is the Iris we deserve.
Arrow
Fallout from Lian Yu | Thanks to the season six trailer, some spoilers about who survived and who didn’t survive the Lian Yu explosion have been revealed. It looks like William (Jack Moore) will move in with Oliver (Stephen Amell) after what happens on the island, so it’s likely his mother Samantha (Anna Hopkins) is one of the casualties of Prometheus’ (Josh Segarra) final plan. Slade Wilson aka Deathstroke (Manu Bennett) will also be back for a two-episode arc exploring his origin story, meaning he survived the island explosion. Other possible survivors: Felicity (Emily Bett Rickards) and Diggle (David Ramsey), who are seen running away from the explosion, potentially to safety.
Mystery villain | Michael Emerson’s casting was met with a ton of enthusiasm during the Comic-Con panel, but the Arrow showrunners didn’t reveal who he’s playing, other than that he’s part of a “villainous cabal,” a found family of baddies. That sounds a lot like hacker group Helix, who was reunited with its leader Cayden James last season without ever showing the man’s face. The showrunners also revealed that DC Comics character Richard Dragon will show up, which is interesting because in the comics, he used to be a good guy, training many students in martial arts before The New 52 relaunch recreated him as a villain.
Legends of Tomorrow
Surprising crossover | One of the villains for this season of Legends comes from CW Seed’s animated series Vixen. Kuasa (Quantico‘s Tracy Ifeachor) is Mari McCabe’s (Megalyn E.K.) older sister who wants her Tantu Totem, the mystical object that gives her the power of animals. She’ll be making the jump from animated to live action, and will come into conflict with her grandmother Amaya (Maisie Richardson-Sellers) this season.
More meta commentary | After all the hilarious winks and nods to Dominic Purcell and Wentworth Miller’s time on Prison Break, Legends is getting even more obviously meta with Martin Stein (Victor Garber). In the trailer alone, he makes a comment about never stepping foot on the Titanic, because “whoever build that ship ought to be shot.” In Titanic, Garber’s character built the ship. Amazing.
Black Lightning
More comic additions | The CW’s latest superhero offering doesn’t premiere until 2018 and hasn’t even shot a full pilot, but it still had its own panel at Comic-Con. Not much was announced that fans didn’t already know, but the showrunners did reveal two characters from the comic books would show up on the series. James Remar joins as a series regular, playing Peter Gambi, the oldest friend of Jefferson Pierce (series star Cress Williams). Gambi is Jefferson’s father figure, mentor and “tailor.” His history with Jefferson goes back farther and deeper than anyone knows, and Gambi’s role in Jefferson’s life will become a painful window into the past that will affect the future of their relationship forever. Series regular Damon Gupton will play Inspector Henderson, a veteran officer of the law who is now the highest-ranking detective on the force. His role in the community puts him at odds with Black Lightning but they soon become unlikely allies.
What do you think of all the shocking twists and reveals from the DC Comics series? Let us know your thoughts in the comments section below.
Gotham returns for season four on Fox in the fall; Supergirl will return for season three on The CW in the fall; The Flash will return for season four on The CW in the fall; Arrow will return for season six on The CW in the fall; Legends of Tomorrow will return for season three on The CW in the fall; and Black Lightning will premiere midseason on The CW.
Arrow
The Flash
Gotham
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Worst Movies Of 2016
If it’s a New Year, then that means it’s time for my annual surveys of the year’s best and worst movies. As is usually the case, I’m starting with my worst of list first, almost like a child having to eat the healthy food on their plate before getting to the tastier food that they love afterward and man, I have a lot of bad movies to deal with from 2016. Some of the films here are ones that many other critics also hated, but I also have a group of movies that were critically acclaimed that I just couldn’t stand, which makes for a more interesting list in my eyes, given my need to explain why I hate films that others love at the same time that I pile onto the more widely-loathed stinkers.
As is my custom, I have my 10 worst films in order of how much I despised them, followed by my 10 dishonorable mentions in no particular order. Also, as is my custom, I’m going to use this time to highlight some of the most visibly disliked films of the year that were not among the 72 films I saw in 2016, just to provide the answer of “I didn’t see it” to the question “why is [insert movie here] not on your list?” As such, if you’re expecting to see films like Gods Of Egypt, Warcraft, Assassin’s Creed, Collateral Beauty, Norm Of The North, Fifty Shades Of Black, Zoolander 2, London Has Fallen, Batman: The Killing Joke, Max Steel, Allegiant, Boo: A Madea Halloween, God’s Not Dead 2, Inferno and Nine Lives here, I’m sorry to disappoint you (and there are likely even more so-called bad films than those that I couldn’t get to). Then again, I’m comfortable with the 20 movies I picked, as they were all deeply unpleasant in their own ways, and some in similar ways that kind of emphasize some pretty bad trends that hopefully, we won’t have to deal with in the year 2017 (or at least, not deal with as much).
Also, one more thing. I usually put a screenshot of each movie in question above each of the entries on both of my lists, but Tumblr apparently is deleting this entire essay when I try to do that now. Maybe this list is too long and there’s a memory constraint or something, but because of that, I made the tough decision of not including them this year. So sorry if this looks bland without them, but hopefully, it won’t diminish the lists or the films I’m discussing. With all that said, let’s dive in:
1. The Boss
Melissa McCarthy is the female equivalent of Adam Sandler. I’m sorry I have to say that, because I do think she’s a talented actress and comedienne, but even so, and as I’ve said countless times before, it’s been 13 years since the only movie with her in it that I recommended, The Life Of David Gale and, I’m getting sick of it. Oh sure, she was good TV’s Mike And Molly and in near-miss films like The Heat and Bridesmaids and, to be fair, she was in a movie I liked this year, Central Intelligence, even though it was just an under 2-minute cameo (so I’d argue that it doesn’t really count), but outside of that, I’ve been just about ready to give up on her in the movie world and, after her hateful, crass, lazy and never-funny comedy The Boss, enough is enough, hence why I’m comparing her to the much reviled Sandler. It’s a pretty apt comparison when you really think about it; like the worst films of Sandler's, McCarthy is creatively involved with this one (she co-wrote it with her husband, Ben Falcone, and he also directed it, which was also the case with 2014’s 3rd worst film, Tammy, a terrible film that is, amazingly, better than this), the movie is put together in a slapdash fashion that shows nothing but contempt for her audience, it uses a licensed soundtrack for no reason except to waste money that should have went to writing jokes (it took me months to listen to Foreigner's I Want To Know What Love Is again without being painfully reminded of the horrible scenes in this movie that used it as a punchline and on-the-nose plot reference), it paints her horrible lead character as a messiah, despite the fact the that she treats every character that isn’t exactly like her like garbage and then, in the grossly hypocritical third act, it has her character playing the victim card and crying/moralizing to the audience about how “family is important.” Oh yeah, and like Sander’s worst efforts, it’s also the worst movie of the year; can’t forget that detail.
McCarthy stars as Michelle Darnell, a self-made multi-billionaire character that came from McCarthy’s days with the Groundlings comedy troupe who, as the movie opens, we see as a young girl who was given up by her parents and, every few years, the families that adopted her toss her back on the steps of the Catholic orphanage. I guess it’s supposed to be funny that no one wants Michelle, but the film has no explanation as to why this is and repeats this joke in bad sitcom fashion about 4 times, making it cruel and sad. As an adult, Michelle has tossed family and her “tragic” past aside to become the 47th richest woman in the world and expresses that in her group of self-help books and to her fans in sold-out Chicago stadium appearances. This catches the eye of her corporate rival, Renault, played by Peter Dinklage, while meanwhile, Michelle’s long-time assistant Claire, played by Kristen Bell, is a single mother who’s still waiting on that raise Michelle promised her, despite Michelle ignoring and berating her for it and despite Claire’s undying commitment to her. That ends up falling by the wayside after Michelle is arrested for insider trading, resulting her going to jail for a little while and having all of her assets seized when she’s released. At that time, her lack of family, friends and funds mean Michelle has nowhere to go, so she convinces Claire, who’s now working a new cubicle job, to let her stay with her and her daughter, Rachel (Ella Anderson). After a meeting with former colleagues ends with Michelle telling them off and then, her falling/rolling down the stairs (because it just wouldn’t be a Melissa McCarthy movie without cheap fat-shaming somewhere in it, right?), she tastes some of Claire’s homemade brownies and gets an idea. Considering Rachel is part of her school’s Girl Scouts equivalent, the Dandelions, and that they make a lot of money for charity off of cookie sales, Michelle thinks that she can turn the making and selling of Claire’s brownies into a business for herself and then, use that to get back on her feet. This sets off a war with the Dandelions and one of the mothers, Helen (Annie Mumolo), while also getting Renault’s attention, who schemes to keep Michelle from getting her riches back. Meanwhile, Claire starts showing interest in Mike (Tyler Labine), the one person at her work who’s not a total jerk.
Now that’s not a terrible setup for a comedy on paper, as it does introduce many opportunities for satire regarding the business world, both big and small, life of a single mother and Girl Scout culture, particularly as it relates to mothers becoming more dedicated and cutthroat about it than their children. This movie, though, has nothing insightful or funny to say about any of those things and its attempts to do so are cheap, perspective-free and hateful. Take the scenes with the Dandelions, especially when Michelle goes to their meetings. What’s the angle? Because Michelle only cares about herself and money, she’s appalled at the idea that they do good non-profit work for people and that the girls get life experience from it, so she goes on a bunch of those trademark Melissa McCarthy rants with overly elaborate and vulgar parallels to people and situations to ridicule and shame them, particularly after Helen says “we can’t trust Michelle with the brownie business idea because she’s a convicted felon.” I think we’re supposed to hate the admittingly bitchy Helen, but she does raise a valid point there and, when combined with Michelle’s threats of violence and her cartoonish/hateful attacks (including cruel mocking of the leader and her recently deceased cat and some homophobic/sexist predictions about some of these innocent young girls who haven’t done anything wrong), sorry, I’m siding with Helen. The former is something Michelle acts upon in what’s the most disgusting and shameful scene in any movie this year (and, given the cinematic garbage I saw in 2016, that’s saying a lot), where Michele and her group of scouts get into a violent street fight with Helen and her girls. It’s supposed to be a satire, I guess, of drug turf wars, but we’re literally watching a 46-year-old woman leading and helping her young workers beat the ever-living hell out of 10-year-old girls by punching them, kicking them, slamming them onto the ground and into cars, which we see happen in slow-motion while we hear the audio relishing in the sounds of their cracking bones and screams of pain. I’m sorry, but there is NOTHING funny about that, especially with how it’s handled here, and anyone who thinks it is and thinks that the girls deserved to be assaulted for standing up against Michelle may want to get a mental evaluation.
Then again, that scene doesn’t matter anyway in the grand scheme of things because it’s never referenced again. You’d think that a violent assault of young Girl Scouts would at least lead to a news report of the streets literally running with blood and fire from that, Claire asking about the bruises that her daughter and former boss have or, perhaps, Michelle going back to jail for that, but no, and that’s because that scene, and for that matter, most of this film’s scenes, are freestanding from the plot, drag on forever (thanks to the endless and repetitive back and forth riffing by the cast, especially McCarthy) and don’t add anything to it. Even in a coarse and broad glorified sitcom like this, you need to have some consistency but, and again, this goes back to the Adam Sandler parallel, they’re only in here because McCarthy thought they were funny and was too lazy to care if they actually fit into the damn movie in the first place. If they actually were humorous, that would have been one thing, but since they’re not, all we notice is how many holes this simple story has in it and how the characters’ behaviors and outlooks between scenes change for no reason other than because the movie demands it, the latter of which make it really hard to like, believe or care about anyone here, especially with a third act that’s asking us to do that with its liar-reveal trope and the aforementioned emotional pleas by McCarthy. To say we’re not buying either when they come is a massive understatement or, to put another way, I hated McCarthy’s character so much in this film that, in the scene where she orders fugu and we find out it was incorrectly and perhaps fatally prepared, I was strongly rooting for the fugu.
As far as the other problems with this movie, the supporting performances are flat (Tyler Labine is dull and lacks chemistry with Kristen Bell as the love interest and Bell does her uptight and sexually-repressed workaholic bit again), annoying (Annie Mumolo and Peter Dinklage, the latter of whom, between this and Pixels, can’t catch a break in live-action comedies) and/or wasted (Cecily Strong and Kathy Bates, the latter apparently willing to jump into any garbage comedy for work nowadays, between this, Tammy and, apparently, Bad Santa 2), the pacing is bad, even with the film being only 99 minutes, the script is awful, the direction is poor and, if it wasn’t already obvious that this film was slapped together, the atrocious editing will remind you with its abrupt scene transitions and jump cuts, which is most noticeable in the scene with Michelle and Rachel riding the El Train (I swear, the jump cuts in that scene to show a passage of time seem to happen at random, as if it were a bad made-for-TV movie and that’s an insult to direct-to-TV movies). The only positive of this movie, which it can’t actually claim responsibility for, is that, because I had enough points on my AMC Stubs card, I actually got to see this atrocity for free. Even then, I still feel like I was ripped off and, after suffering through this, it’s going to take one hell of a comeback vehicle for McCarthy to cinematically redeem herself in my eyes, especially since, between this and another awful 2016 comedy she was in (which you’ll be seeing later on this list), it’s clear she hasn’t learned her lesson. I guess, like Sandler, she’s settling for dreck and just happy that she has another box-office semi-hit with The Boss, but soon enough, she’ll have to learn the hard way that there’s a difference between a movie making a lot of money and the reaction of the customers who gave said money to a “financially successful” film. To Mrs. McCarthy, I ask this; you and your films are profitable, but what’s your reputation worth? To me, I’d say about a buck fifty now, and I’m being nice.
2. The Nice Guys
OK, I know I’m pretty much alone on despising this critically praised period crime/buddy comedy hybrid from co-writer/director Shane Black, whose previous credits include Lethal Weapon and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, but I had the absolute worst time watching The Nice Guys and I felt completely unclean after sitting through this meaningless, insufferably self-satisfied, never interesting, never funny and often gallingly vile and immoral piece of garbage. Listen, I know that’s exactly the kind of puritanical response to a film like this that would make the filmmakers and its fans point and say that there’s no value to my opinion (which is kind of the tactic used against some of the vocal critics of the supposed immoralities of Black’s 1991 film, The Last Boy Scout, unseen by me), but I have no problem with violent, dark and even darkly humorous boundary pushing films similar to this when they’re done well, as was the case with many of Quentin Tarantino’s films like Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction or, thinking back to this year, similar films like Deadpool and especially Keanu. But I’m also not made of stone, so when a reprehensible movie like this comes along and tries to hide itself in its own self-importance and being “just a movie,” while having no care for the quality needed to justify the touchy subject material it’s trafficking in, I deal with it on both the grounds of taste and good filmmaking that it’s violating (and on the level of taste alone, this is amazingly an even more despicable and horrible film than The Boss was).
The film is in 1977 Los Angeles and opens with the death of a fictional porn star named Misty Mountains. Enter recently widowed private investigator Holland March (Ryan Gosling), who’s hired by Misty’s aunt to find her, despite Holland saying that Misty’s death is common knowledge and thinking that the aunt mistook her for Amelia (Margaret Qualley), a teenage girl who’s hired a private law enforcer named Jackson Healy (Russell Crowe) for protection. Jackson learns from Amelia that Holland is searching for her, so Jackson goes to Holland’s house to make him stop his search, namely, by deliberately breaking Holland’s arm (because temporary paralysis is so funny and deserving of cheaply making fun of people over, right Hollywood?). After this, though, Amelia goes missing and Jackson is attacked by a group of thugs also looking for her, after which, he Holland again and realizes that they share the same goal and reason for wanting to find her. So, the two team up to find Amelia, with Holland accompanied by his young daughter, Holly (Angourie Rice), who’s more grown up than she seems, given her earlier interactions with Jackson and her learning how to deal with her father’s rampant alcoholism. The rest of the movie involves their search for Amelia, which reveals a complicated conspiracy and crime-ring related to the Department of Justice, the auto industry, the California air pollution/gas shortages of the time and the adult film business that Misty was involved in, done as a hybrid of a dark buddy-cop comedy, a noir crime thriller and a serious drama, the latter involving Holland’s past and his bond with Holly, specifically how she’s rapidly growing up and wanting to be involved in helping her father with the case, even given the seedy and dangerous nature of it all.
Since I’m obviously going to be tearing into this movie pretty extensively, let me get its two positives out of the way quickly. First, I do think Russell Crowe is giving a good and dedicated performance here as Jackson, playing the straight man of this duo in a way that didn’t feel as pushy and annoying as his co-star comes off as (more on him and the other cast members later) and he gives me the sense that he could have feasibly worked comedically in a better movie with a better screenplay. The other positive is its sense of time and place, as it has a pretty transporting and almost obsessive attention to detail regarding the feeling and atmosphere of 1977, from the costume designs, to the cars, to the visual filters. That being said, it’s still not obsessive enough, given that it has a couple of pretty clear mistakes that, when combined with everything else this movie does wrong (which is literally everything else) were strong enough to break me out, particularly regarding the licensed music. There’s a scene at a party with Earth Wind & Fire present, apparently, and they’re playing September while later, at the same party, we hear Kool & The Gang's Get Down On It. I love both those songs, but remember, the movie’s set in 1977, a year before September existed and four years before Get Down On It came out and, considering how much Shane Black clearly loves this time period and is obviously trying to avoid the usual time period anachronisms everywhere else, an obvious oversight like that is kind of inexcusable. Then again, it’s part of a movie that, unless you’re a Shane Black acolyte who’s willing to give him a pass for everything and willing to abandon your sense of morality for 2 hours, is already totally inexcusable.
As you can probably tell from the plot summary, there’s some pretty seamy subject matter in this film and some clearly boundary-pushing elements of violence and sexuality that makes the execution of it and attitude towards it all the more vital to the film’s success, especially when you’re asking your audience to find any part of it funny or relatable. If The Nice Guys was going to work at all, it would need to show a sense of intelligence, complexity and a lack of vanity about itself to justify the material it’s trafficking in, but not for one second does this movie show any interest in paying those dues, which results in everything it does coming off as stomach-churning, appalling and in no way entertaining. This is a downright hateful movie, with a level of brutality and sleaziness that it likes to think is a tribute to the hardboiled and cynical aura of the time, but to me, it feels like it’s playing the cynical Anchorman game of “it’s a 70s-period piece, so it’s instantly acceptable, funny and inoculated against any possible modern social criticism.” Oh yeah? Even in the context of the time this film is set, I still say it really crosses the line with its quite ugly and unmotivated streaks of homophobia, racism, misogyny and ableism that the movie has no attitude about and is in no way insightful, intriguing vis-à-vis the story or funny regarding. Even more offensive to me is the exploitative way it uses Holly, in that it wants her to be this strong young female character who’s a willing participant to the depravity Jackson and her father are involved with in the case, while she’s also cynically used as a child-in-danger prop threatened with violence/death when the movie needs it and a fake semblance of morality to an otherwise immoral film.
Regarding the former idea of Holly thrusting herself into the case, yeah, we get scenes where Holland tells her that she’s too young to handle it, gets mad when she stows away with him in the trunk of his car and has her asking basic questions that help out the search for Amelia, but they all feel like quick screenplay additions to justify the galling and unfunny scenes with her involved, the most disgusting being the one at the porn film premiere party, where Holly’s taken into the back room, shown the blue film, is told by its stars of specific sexual practices in graphic detail and is told she may have potential as a porn star. Remember, Holly’s 11 or so years-old, a detail that made me feel even more unclean by the scene, which is played as funny and light, because child exploitation is funny and light in this film’s eyes. As far as Holly being threatened by the bad guys, it’s nothing but a lazy third-act conflict that requires Holland to be more careful about wantonly killing the bad guys (and for that matter, a lot of innocent bystanders; I haven’t seen a buddy film like this as badly disdainful of innocent lives since Bad Boys 2) and regarding Holly being this pure and touching sense of good in the film’s warped world, it’s only shows just how tonally out of control the film is, as well as being clear, insincere and offensive proof that this movie really wants to have its cake and eat it, too. Oh, we see Jackson brutally killing a bunch of people throughout most of the movie, but that’s OK, because when Holly sees him about to do it on two occasions and is able to succeed in convincing Jackson to spare their lives, that automatically makes Jackson good and absolved of everything else bad that he’s done while Holly hasn’t been watching him (not to mention that we never see him even contemplating mercy on the people he kills after Holly asks him the first time not to kill people). Oh, Holland is an inattentive father to Holly and a drunk that she is forced to clean up for at her young age, but that’s OK, because she’s “growing up” and they’re both in pain from her mother’s death, despite Holland seemingly always being an emotional basket-case and despite that angle just briefly explored and, even then, it’s not convincing or believable for a second.
If those last two situations didn’t give you an idea, I don’t like or care about any of the characters here, and, though I said I was fine with Russell Crowe’s performance, none of the acting here, including from him, changes that or adds extra depth or chemistry to them. Ryan Gosling is clearly supposed to be the more neurotic and comedic of the guys as Holland, but I found his performance here to be quite awful, as he’s pathetically mannered and mugging throughout the entire thing without ever taking it down a notch to make us believe him as such a person (also, to take it back to the morality issue of this movie once more, Gosling in real-life went out and argued about how big an issue hatred of women is nowadays, a lecture that he has absolutely no right to be making considering that he starred in this vile and misogynistic movie with no moral objections). As far as the rest of the cast is concerned, Angourie Rice is just OK as the young Holly, and the supporting cast, including people like Margaret Qualley, Beau Knapp, Keith David, Lois Smith and Kim Basinger, add little to their ancillary roles and don’t stand out as much as I think they’re intended to. Also, the film is all over the place regarding its labyrinthine story which, when we finally do get a grasp of it all in the third act, doesn’t give us that “aha!” moment and sense of satisfaction of everything coming together regarding the plot and its connection to the characters, the action scenes are not exciting or well-shot (maybe they shouldn’t have had most of them set in the dark of night or, at the very least, have a better cinematographer to capture those night scenes), the pacing is awful and makes the almost 2 hour length feel twice as long and not only is this movie not at all funny, but its jokes are repetitive to the extreme, as they belong to the same obvious and unfunny "oh, here's a joke at a tonally inappropriate time to cut the tension" category every time. Again, I can see some being able to enjoy this, despite all I said about it, but I’m sorry, it made me completely miserable and violated. But apparently, I may not be alone since, though this was quite liked by critics, it was a flop with audiences at the box office, which kind of validates my excoriation of it and signals that maybe American audiences actually do have a semblance of taste, even for films like this.
3. Me Before You
I kind of hinted at this with The Nice Guys, but I’ll make it clearer now; 2016 was the year that Hollywood openly admitted their complete and utter hatred of people with disabilities. Except for Finding Dory, every other movie I saw this year that had characters that were either explicitly shown as having one kind of disability or another or were heavily suggested as having one had said characters ridiculed and shamed without mercy. Warner Bros. is the studio that was the worst offender of this trend this year and, in the contest of “what’s our most ableist movie?,” with their strong contenders like The Nice Guys and The Accountant, Me Before You barely won that dubious distinction. This is based on a young adult novel by Jojo Moyes that was controversial when it came out because it was construed that this story about the relationship between the quadriplegic son of a rich British castle owning couple and his assistant caregiver was arguing that the former, because of his plan to commit suicide based on the depression of him losing his ability to walk and function, was better off dead. Sadly, the film, which Moyes herself adapted the screenplay, doesn’t make that charge any less valid, as it shows that, despite the defense that both the film and book are poignant tragedies about the mindset of someone in a situation like that and the harsh reminder to those trying to talk him out of it that you can’t always change people, the movie is psychologically, emotionally and disgustingly simplistic, ignorant and dishonest in its attempt to explore his disability and his relationship with the caretaker, not to mention that the caretaker is one of the most loathsome female lead characters in any teenage melodrama like this. In fact, I’ll go on the record now and say that this is more two-faced, pandering, shameless and rage-inducing than every Nicholas Sparks film adaptation I’ve seen, and I am not joking (in fact, my favorite one, Dear John, also explored a character with a disability with more honesty and respect).
The film stars Emilia Clark from Game Of Thrones in a role that makes me glad I still haven’t started watching that much talked about TV show. She plays Lou Clark, a young woman living in the economically stressed small-town of Pembrokeshire in Wales who was just fired from her job working at the local coffee shop because they’re going out of business. Out of a job and with little education, Lou looks for another job to help keep the unemployed family she lives at home with alfloat, including a mother, father, sister and said sister’s out of wedlock child, so she goes to an interview for the caretaker of Will Traynor (Sam Claflin), a now bitter and cutting man who became a quadriplegic after getting hit by a motorcycle and, along with losing his ability to walk and participate in the extreme sports that he used to, also lost his fiancé, who has since found someone else and is now planning to marry them. Will’s parents, Camilla (Janet McTeer) and Stephen (Charles Dance), are the richest people in town as the owners of the Pembroke Castle and, after they meet with Lou, despite her being easily flustered and ripping her stockings (because Lou is clumsy and awkward in bold, italics and underlining, like female love interests in all bad romance movies are), they give her the job in the hopes that she can assist and cheer up their son. However, Lou is only Will’s caretaker by day because, at night, his nurse, Nathan (Stephen Peacocke) takes over and, because he has actual medical experience, he knows how to handle Will. Lou, on the other hand, is in over her head, which isn’t helped by the prickly digs that Will makes towards her, yet after enough time, she starts to break through and the two begin to like each other. However, that apparently doesn’t mean much, because Will is still planning to commit assisted suicide, so Lou tries, on the pleas of his parents, to convince him that his life is still worth living, while meanwhile, her feelings for Will grow into love, as does Will’s feelings for Lou, to an extent.
Now, based on that description, you might be thinking, “well, the movie is about the relationship between Lou and Will and they are explicitly dealing with the idea that Will wants to die and that Lou is trying to change his mind, so how can you say that the movie is arguing that Will is better off dead?” Simple; because that sentence is just what the film is about and not how it’s about it. Yes, the movie does look at the dichotomy of Will’s depressed state of mind and Lou trying to reverse it, but it refuses to level with us about his perhaps changing state of mind after meeting her. All we see of Will are the usual treacly disability movie clichés with him being depressed, lashing out initially for reasons that are not clear until later and then having his heart warmed up by the woman who “just won’t give up on him, damn it,” but it all feels so empty and devoid of passion and authenticity. That latter point also extends to why he wants to kill himself, because although the movie does show us his feelings of being useless and wanting to give up, it’s all surface with no interest in probing deeper into his psyche. We learn that the drivers of his desire to die are because his fiancé left him and because he can’t be independent anymore, but the way the movie presents both is shallow and perfunctory at best and, at worst, insulting, especially because the film seems to take sadistic joy in seeing him suffer under the false pretenses of elaborating on those things (while, again, underscoring the idea that the film is also arguing for his “sweet release”).
For example, Will’s fiancé is remarrying, which leads to a really cruel scene where she comes back to visit Will when Lou is there and explicitly tells him “I’m going to marry this guy; I hope there’s no hard feelings.” I got really angry watching this, which, I guess, is supposed to be the point, but I was more mad because of how obviously manufactured and tone-deaf the whole scene was and how the fiancé character only exists to be a self-awareness-lacking prop to further his pain, instead of actually looking at how such a difficult and painful situation like that would actually play out with the characters in the real world that this movie claims to exist in (case in point; despite that, Will and Lou accept her wedding invitation anyway and the emotions behind it are only given lip service and even then, not very much). Same goes with him having to sit in a chair all day and have other people help him, which I know is the reality for people with disabilities like that, but I’ve seen many movies before that depict that life honestly and with the bitterness, depression and, sometimes, cutting and wry mordant humor sometimes present in it, such as the great Rory O’Shea Was Here from 2005. By comparison, this feels totally phony and mean-spirited by how much it revels in that suffering, especially when throws cheap, unmotivated and clearly insult-intended My Left Foot jokes at Will, ultimately revealing this as one of those “we care about people with disabilities, but not really" films that’s more interested in getting a cheap emotional reaction out of us at the end and not at all about the people it claims compassion for.
As such, I don’t care about what’s going to happen to Will, which is bad enough, but even worse, I absolutely hate Lou here. Again, it’s because the movie basically makes her into an empty cypher to deliver the pathos with, but she’s worse, because of how much of an emotionally immature, selfish and irresponsible brat she is. First off, she should not be taking care of Will because of her lack of experience, which we clearly see when she makes multiple mistakes that put his health in jeopardy, which the movie brushes off as letting Will “live a little” and being able to be an adult again (yeah, not when your immune system is compromised so that going outside in the snow makes it easier to contract pneumonia and potentially die from it, it’s not). Second, even though she’s taken the job to help her family’s financial struggles, that subplot never ends up amounting to anything for them and only benefits her by the relationship she gets with Will, not to mention that we see her in tons of overly colorful and expensive dresses and outfits that said money problems should not allow her to have. Third, when she finds out that Will wants to die and her attempts to try to convince him otherwise seem to not be working, she lashes out against him by pretty much accusing him of being selfish, irresponsible and immature which, coming from Lou, is quite rich, considering those words describe her to a tee. And finally, Emilia Clark’s awful performance does not make me feel for her whatsoever and actually, with her overacting outbursts, cringe-inducing forced clumsiness and horribly fake/unnatural smile, I actively hated her, to the point where, when Will sarcastically calls her BS attitude, idiocy and social faux-pas about his disability out early in the movie, I was completely on his side, which I don’t think was intended.
Actually, for that reason, I kind of liked Sam Claflin as Will and wished he had a better movie to play a character like this, but he also contributes to what is unintentionally, the best part of the movie for me. You see, Will loves foreign films, which Lou scoffs at, so he demands that she watch a foreign film with him (he picks 2010’s Of Gods And Men), resulting in her adoring it. Later, Lou goes out to the movies with her boyfriend (sorry, I forgot to mention that she has one before Will, who’s an inattentive and selfish wannabe runner, but he’s not interesting or believable, either, so yeah) and she suggests a foreign film over the new Will Ferrell comedy, but to no avail. Now, here’s the kicker; the film she wants to see is 1999’s All About My Mother, directed by Pedro Almodovar. That doesn’t seem like a big deal, but if you know Almodovar, you also know that the movie he made after that one was 2002’s Talk To Her, which just so happens to be a film (and a really good and wonderfully avant-garde one) about two paralyzed women that are taken care of by their doting caregivers and, by that association game, it only further reminded me of how this film’s look at disability and the romantic bonds that come from it are totally fake and shameless. I bet the makers of this movie are now looking back and wishing they didn’t make that connection, though, to be fair, they’re also probably thanking their lucky stars that, of all of Almodovar’s films they could have chosen to name drop, they didn’t pick that one to make a direct link.
Adding insult to injury, the pacing is unbearably slow, the romance and drama are completely empty, Clark and Claflin have little chemistry together, the music choices are embarrassingly literal, the supporting performances and the side characters they play add little and not even the Wales setting adds any atmosphere or sense of time and place to compliment the already failed narrative elements of the film. That, and it offended and angered me so much with its hypocritical attitude and offensive trifling attitude about its subject material which, as you’ll also see more evidence of later on in this worst of list, it disgustingly and despicably seemed to be open season on in the movies in 2016.
4. Batman V Superman: Dawn Of Justice
Yeah, I know this film is on pretty much EVERY 10 Worst of 2016 list out there, but Batman V Superman: Dawn Of Justice is just so deserving of it that I have to jump in with my own take on why it really is that atrocious. As you likely know, 2016 was the year that DC Comics, in conjunction with Warner Bros., took their boldest steps to follow in the cinematic footsteps of Marvel Comics and their Marvel Studios film division, with the attempt at having big-budget blockbusters of famous DC Comics characters and books that would please the legions of comic fans, please casual moviegoers and create a connected cinematic universe for DC, much like Marvel has. To say that DC’s attempt failed is the understatement of the year, that is, unless you think them having a reputation of putting out a group of bloated, endless, idiotic, hypocritical, hateful and cynically sequel-baiting pieces of garbage that despise half the human race constitutes success. And to think, Batman V Superman was just the first such vile movie we got this year, along with, apparently, Batman: The Killing Joke and certainly… well, the next film on this list.
Anyway, the setup of this movie, to be fair, sounds interesting on paper and, of course, the idea of having the two biggest DC Comics stars in the same film would make you think/hope it’d be great. The story takes place a year and a half after the last Superman movie, Man Of Steel, which, if you recall, ended with massive destruction coming upon Metropolis and seemingly untold numbers of innocent people getting injured or dying inadvertently at the hands of Superman during his battle with General Zod. One of those victims is Wallace Keefe (Scoot McNairy), a worker at Wayne Enterprises whose legs were crushed during the fracas by falling metal girders (because we just have to get a 9/11 parallel into these Superman-related films somehow) and who is taken care of by Bruce Wayne (Ben Affleck), the latter of whom sees Superman flying in the sky and blames him for the destruction. From there, with the assistance of his butler, Alfred (Jeremy Irons), Bruce plans to exact revenge on Superman using his various detective skills, gadgets, his persona as Batman and some additional information provided by Diana Prince (forced meme actress Gal Gadot), AKA the subject of the next big DC movie coming out (of which this film should not make you confident of that one’s quality, even with Monster director Patty Jenkins making it). Meanwhile, Clark Kent (Henry Cavill) has been feeling the weight of being the now societally controversial Superman, as well as the current strains in his relationship with fellow Daily Planet reporter, Lois Lane (Amy Adams), but also finds out about Wayne’s plan to put a stop to Superman, resulting in Clark writing articles intended to expose and smear Batman as a hypocritical vigilante because, yeah, working at a newspaper clearly means that you get to write about what you want after your boss tells you “you’re on sports today” (which was even more noticeable when this movie first came out, as it was less than a month after Spotlight, a really smart movie about the newspaper business, won the Oscar for Best Picture). As Batman/Bruce Wayne and Superman/Clark Kent are in the middle of their heated debate, if you will, about what makes a man a vigilante and/or a self-designated protector, Lex Luthor (Jesse Eisenberg) is scheming to use General Zod’s dead body and the Kryptonian cove that holds it to destroy Superman, which he then sets into motion by kidnapping Clark’s mother, Martha (Diane Lane) and offering to release her if Superman kills Batman, the latter of whom recently stole Kryptonite to weaponize for use against Superman. And thus, we get the epic battle of Batman versus Superman that should be a dream come true to viewers, but in reality, ends up being more of a nightmare.
As I said, there is an ambitious attempt at social commentary about the nature of superheroes in this comic book movie and it’s not just an endless action extravaganza. Then again, so was my best film of 2008, The Dark Knight (a far better film also based on a DC property), not to mention that you have to wonder if this film’s director, Zack Snyder, the misogynist hack who also directed Man Of Steel, and writers Chris Terrio and David S. Goyer (the later of whom also wrote Man Of Steel) only made the story of this one the way it is as an apology for what that 2013 film did with its third act. There was a lot of destruction and collateral damage going on at the end of Man Of Steel, which was both mind-numbing and, to a lot of people, out of keeping with Superman, given the fact that he didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that he was unintentionally killing innocent people as he fought Zod. That led to justified charges that Synder was showing a complete disregard for innocent lives and, given that, as well as Synder’s insane defense of it by arguing Star Wars Episode 7: The Force Awakens was more hateful because more innocents died with the planet destruction in that movie (even though that one was actually acknowledging those deaths and how terrible they were, unlike Man Of Steel), it seems as if the plot of Batman V Superman is his direct cinematic answer to that criticism. Fair enough, but Synder totally destroys the potential of the premise (and the effectiveness of his personal argument) by still lovingly reveling in the death, destruction and suffering that the characters cause (unintentionally or not) and, as far as the moral quandaries at the center of it all, all we get is a bunch of brief, didactic and surface speeches about how right or wrong Batman and Superman think each specific dilemma is, but without any attempt to dive into the potentially thought-provoking guts of it (and considering Goyer also wrote The Dark Knight, which actually did just that, the lack of it here is totally inexcusable).
As far as the narrative explorations of Batman and Superman’s characters are concerned, the film does a pretty bad job of balancing between the two characters and, of what we do get of the two, it feels empty, emotionally inert and like rehashes of some of the more famous/infamous details related to the characters in the comics and other movies. In Batman’s case, I really felt that his reasons for wanting to stop Superman so badly, aside from seeing one of his co-workers get paralyzed, were really murky, as was his backstory. I get the idea that Batman/Bruce Wayne is a loner who tries to hide his pain, but the film mostly focuses on his attempts at revenge on Superman, with a few embarrassingly dumb dream sequences thrown in (come on, Batman shooting at Superman’s soldiers in a desert with a gun?!) and, despite the valiant effort of Ben Affleck in the role, he’s not able to make us feel for Wayne/Batman on his own and without the movie helping him. Actually, the movie is hurting Affleck’s role, because of the issues with his character, as well as that computerized Batman voice of his that was enough to make me nostalgic for the Sean Connery-inspired voice of Bane from The Dark Knight Rises, all of which might explain why Affleck is now directing himself in his own Batman film (which will hopefully be better). The scenes with Superman don’t fare much better, particularly because Henry Cavill is empty and shows none of the lighter charm in the role that even the also dramatically minded Man Of Steel allowed him to flaunt, his struggles are unbelievable and uninteresting, he has no chemistry with Lois Lane (despite the presence of their sex scene in a bathtub, which is easily the most head-shaking and uncomfortable sex scene in a superhero movie since Watchmen which, ironically, Snyder also made) and the idea of society torn as to whether Superman is a hero or a menace doesn’t have the presence and weight that it should. When the two are brought together, their battle and the reasons for it are basically the comic book equivalent of Idiot Plot syndrome (you know, the idea that it’s based on a simple misunderstanding that one simple discussion between the characters would solve) and the resolution to it is even worse, and clearly, I’m not alone in thinking that, given how the “maternal” angle of it has since deservedly become the biggest laughingstock within DC, comic and online culture.
Regarding the supporting characters, they’re generally too insignificant to mean much, even with heavy-hitting actors like Jeremy Irons, Diane Lane and Lawrence Fishburne in their just OK roles, and of the important ones, Lex Luthor and Lois Lane, they don’t have the intended impact on the film. Luthor isn’t particularly interesting as a villain, given his stupid plot and lack of gravitas and it’s likely quite inaccurate to the character in the comic books. Then again, even the great Kevin Spacey couldn’t make this character work in Superman Returns a decade ago and, despite that, I didn’t mind Jesse Eisenberg in the role, if only because at least it gives this overly oppressive and dark movie a brief shot of levity via Eisenberg’s admittingly out of place, but still comparatively appealing fast-talking psychotic madness. Regarding Lois Lane, unlike Man Of Steel, she’s back to being the damsel in distress that the character is often stereotyped as being (even with Amy Adams playing her), but because this is a Zack Snyder film, the attitude about her, and for that matter, every other woman character, goes beyond just the usual insulting female tropes and into the far worse and more offensive realm of rank misogynistic hatred.
Every time I think Snyder is going to stop his cinematic War On Women, he just keeps doubling down with his next picture and, with the exception of his “pedophile’s dream movie,” Sucker Punch, this is his worst film on that front. Lois and every female character in this movie are endlessly sexualized and endure or are threatened with violence, suffering and death in scenes that are repulsively taking joy in their pain (the scenes with Mrs. Kent crying as she’s threatened with being burned alive with a flamethrower and the opening that lovingly relishes in the brutal murder of Bruce’s mother as those pearls of hers and her body fall to the ground in slow-motion are particularly vile). That’s offensive enough as it is, but I was even more enraged by the film’s cynical attempt to justify it all by pretending that it actually cares about its women and that it believes that they’re strong individuals. In reality, it doesn’t care in the slightest, with the two clearest examples of this being Lois Lane and, despite what many are arguing, Diana Prince and her alter-ego. Both characters are initially shown to be proactive in their goals, with Lois putting all the pieces of Luthor’s scheme together herself and then, trying to push back against Luthor and the senators tied to him, while Diana gets most of the information that Bruce ends up using by herself via her cunning and wiles. So, OK, they’re girls doing it for themselves, which is nice, but the third act reveals that they really can’t do it themselves and punishes them for their attempts. Lois ultimately is punished for her proactivity by becoming the weak and useless damsel who needs to rely on Superman to be saved (even for things that she doesn’t need his superpowers for), while Diana’s so-called “wonderfully feministic contribution” is just barely assisting the two male leads who, without giving too much away, end up finishing the job she helped to start and taking all the credit.
On top of that, the movie is horribly directed by Synder, the pacing is unbelievably slow, making its over 2 ½ hour running time feel torturous (especially with all those false endings and pathetic attempts to set up sequels and the other characters’ movies, with one scene doing the latter by literally stopping the movie) and even the action scenes aren’t any good, thanks to their overly loud audio, choppy editing, ugly/dark look and incomprehensible nature. Thankfully, even though this film became a big box office hit, it ended up not mattering because DC Comics fans are actually willing and able to be objective when their properties are turned into horrible movies (that’s something that the Marvel fans might want to start doing), so even they knew this was a massive disaster worthy of heavy derision which, along with critics and other burned moviegoers like me, they applied to this film full force to give it the lousy reputation that it deserves. Too bad that DC didn’t seem to care that much about our dissatisfaction, as they so aptly proved with their so-called “comeback” movie that is my next worst of the year selection…
5. Suicide Squad
Hey, lookee here; DC Comics is back to steal our money and insult our intelligence, taste and will to be entertained with yet another horrible 2016 comic book movie. Seriously, at this point, you have to wonder if DC is trying to destroy their fan-base, while also alienating outsiders and, of course, women (since rank and rampant misogyny seems to be the MO of the DC Comics film adaptations). To be fair, I’m pretty sure that DC and Warner Bros. (wow, almost half of my worst of list now consists of junk from that studio) were trying to pivot from the disastrous reaction to Batman V. Superman with Suicide Squad, given that this one underwent a couple of reshoots, some minor rewrites and a rating change (from its originally promised R to PG-13, all the better for cynically making more money) before it released this past August. Some people I’ve talked to think this is a case of cynical studio meddling, which it clearly is, but they also think director David Ayer got screwed over here, which is wrong, given his recent insistence that, even after all the edits, the film’s final cut is all his, not to mention that this hypocritical, misogynistic, incomprehensible, clichéd, dull, badly made and thoroughly unpleasant junk also shares the same negative attributes of Ayer’s past failures that didn’t have studio involvement. Either way, there’s a lot of blame to place for this one and it’s further evidence of how creatively and morally adrift DC is in the movies nowadays and how they need to clean up their cinematic act and fast.
The film takes place after the ending of Batman V Superman, which went early 1990s on Superman, if you know what I mean, resulting in a secret government agency lead by Amanda Walker (Viola Davis, who’s likely glad that she has Fences out right now to make people forget she was slumming it in this), looking for a new method for keeping the US and the world safe from villains. Apparently, getting Batman involved isn’t something she’s open to (and yes, Ben Affleck does return here in that role), so she decides to recruit a group of locked-up supervillains, many of whom Batman has fought, and bring them together to fight against evil forces. You may be wondering why Walker thinks it’s a good idea to trust a group of villains who could feasibly band together, escape and cause even more havoc, but she has a backup plan; she puts them all under the watchful eye of hardened commander Colonel Rick Flag (Joel Kinnaman) and she has implanted a nano-bomb in each of them, which Flag is ordered to detonate should any of them go rogue. Speaking of those villains, they consist of Deadshot (Will Smith), a hitman with a proficiency with guns and a young daughter he wants to support, despite his murderous tendencies, El Diablo (Jay Hernandez), a now seemingly pacifistic former LA gangbanger with pyrokinetic powers and a troubled past, Captain Boomerang (Jai Courtney), a thieving scumbag who, surprise surprise, attacks with a boomerang, Killer Croc (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje) a genetically mutated man with bodily features and attributes much like a crocodile, Slipknot (Adam Beach), a highly specialized assassin with rappelling skills and Harley Quinn (Margot Robbie), the psychotic, highly sexual and emotionally battered former psychiatrist to The Joker, the latter of whom is also in this film in a much hyped, but completely inconsequential, microscopic and nothing role (he’s played by Oscar winner Jared Leto). The plot shows the growing bond, if you want to call it that, between the supervillains, as well as how one of the intended recruits is possessed by the Enchantress (Cara Delevingne), who is seeking revenge on the world for imprisoning her and her brother’s souls in ancient artifacts years ago, resulting in the supervillains having to band together to stop her and save both Midway City and the world. During it all, the film also wants to have an acerbic and dark comedic edge mixed in with the heavy action and drama, as well as a penchant for using famous licensed tunes, ala Guardians Of The Galaxy.
I have to admit that I didn’t like Guardians Of The Galaxy when it came out in 2014 (though I’d probably have been kinder to it if I knew even worse all-star cavalcade comic book movies like this would be following it), but at least that movie had a sense of chemistry between the team (despite some serious credibility issues I had with their overall relationship). Here, we get no concept of the bond that these “heroes” share, since they all seem out to serve their own interests and also, because they don’t have very good chemistry to make their contrasting personalities and goals effectively play off of each other. We see that definitively in the scene when they basically stop the plot of the movie and go have drinks at a bar, but that’s the only attempt at comradery that we get, and even then, it’s nothing but the parading of a bunch of hoary old clichés and them emphasizing how humorously off-beat they think they are with the old “I’m not really as bad as society says I am” trope. At best, this, as well as all the other attempts to sell us on the idea of this team coming together on an emotional and/or comedic level, is pedestrian and doesn’t give us a rooting interest in the characters, but at worst, I’m not buying it for second and they induce feelings of anger and disdain over what they and film want us to instantly accept. The key examples of this is are the stabs at familial pathos with Deadshot’s daughter and El Diablo’s backstory about his family; the former thread is cloying and cheap, the latter is about something so horrible in his past that there’s no way that most people in the audience will believe he’s moral and let that go so quickly and, in both cases, they’re just tired and offensive plot devices to try and cynically soften these characters, as opposed to honestly developing them so we believe that, even in their seemingly seedy and/or nigh-irredeemable natures, that they have the capability of being good or, at the very least, are interesting enough to follow to the end (ala a Terry Zwigoff film like Bad Santa or Ghost World, both of which had similar outcast leads that were well-developed and darkly funny).
Before we get the team together, though, we get their solo introductions, which comprise a majority of the film’s first 40 minutes, give or take, but those don’t do a much better job of making us care about the characters, as they’re flatly expository, aggravatingly self-conscious, tonally schizophrenic, and, for some characters, incomprehensible. For instance, I had no idea what to make of or feel about Killer Croc, who’s an interesting villain based on my knowledge of him from the Batman enterprise, but the film seems to rush through his story (as well as some others, like Slipknot) because it wants to focus on the characters played by the biggest stars here, namely, Smith’s Deadshot and Robbie’s Harley Quinn, most of which is all about flaunting their strange behavior, the muted neon color look of the film and, of course, those damn licensed songs that are so obvious, lazy and on-the-nose that their presence made me angry (Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Fortunate Son, The Rolling Stone’s Sympathy For The Devil, Lesley Gore’s You Don’t Own Me and The Animals’ House Of The Rising Sun?! REALLY?!). As far as the film’s look at Quinn, this is the first depiction of the character in a movie and my God, does it want to have it both ways tonally speaking, by trying to look at her twisted mental state as appealingly humorous and erotic, while also being dark, disturbing and serious. If the movie played fair with that, like the Batman: The Animated Series that introduced Quinn did, then no problem, but there’s something uniquely ugly about the portrayal here, as the movie sexualizes and glamorizes her mental state, as well as her abusive relationship with The Joker, while tossing in some token heavy moments to try and hide that this movie is grotesquely trivializing her mental illness and psychological suffering by making it look “fun,” “sexy,” “funny” and “empowering,” which it isn’t, especially how this film treats it.
Then again, that’s in keeping with the hacky attitude of the whole movie which, despite the studio interaction, is all on co-writer/director David Ayer, because he falls down here in the same ways he did on the so-called “pure” pictures he made. His End Of Watch refused to pick a style and go with it, while his Fury (a film that, amazingly, is even worse and more despicable than this) oozed with leering sexuality and suffocating for its own sake claustrophobia, and this one does all three, as it uneasily straddles the line between dark comedy and heavy drama/action, but without doing any of it well, it hates women, as I emphasized with Quinn as the most obvious example, and the film gives off a really oppressive aura that doesn’t fit the movie and makes it dull and extremely depressing to watch. In addition, the action scenes are badly lit, choppy, quickly cut, not exciting and incomprehensible (could it be because of the cut to a PG-13?), the CG is awful, the pacing is slow, the writing is poor, the story is stupid, Ayer’s direction is distractingly chaotic, and the performances are empty and wasted, either because they’re bland, as is the case with Jai Courtney, Jay Hernandez, Joel Kinnaman and the usually magnetic Will Smith, or they’re trying too hard, as is the case with Cara Delevingne’s painfully over-the-top vampy act as the Enchantress, Margot Robbie’s pushiness as Quinn and, of course, the much ballyhooed role of The Joker by Jared Leto who, though not trying to copy Heath Ledger’s legendary turn as the character in The Dark Knight, is one-note, unpleasant and a real turn-off (but at least he’s only in the film for under 10 minutes, so at least the pain of his presence here won’t hurt you for too long).
Look, I know DC wants to try and be a cinematic fanboy/fangirl powerhouse like Marvel is, but soul-draining and empty garbage like Suicide Squad is not doing them or the fans any favors, nor is it making outsiders like me willing to jump on board. Also, this was supposed to be the one that would get them back on track after Batman V Superman, but it just ended up driving them into the ditch even further, suggesting that maybe they should either go back to the drawing board again, or perhaps quit while they’re ahead. Some are arguing that Wonder Woman next year will save the DC movies and maybe it will, but on the back of the two we got this year (or three, if you count The Killing Joke), if your expectations for that one now are anything but subterranean, well, I’m sorry, that’s your problem.
6. The Neon Demon
Man, what happened to Nicholas Winding Refn? He seemed like a pretty interesting and gutsy avant-garde filmmaker with the mixed-bag, but interesting enough (and very well-acted by Tom Hardy) 2009 film, Bronson and especially his 2011 masterpiece, Drive (which I had on my 10 best list that year), but something happened after that latter 5-year-old film of his and he’s clearly let success and the critical arguments of his directorial grandeur go to his head with his last couple of films. In 2013, he made Only God Forgives, a particularly empty and vile piece of trash that was my clear pick for the worst movie of that year, and here he is once again with The Neon Demon, a film that’s, at the very least, a slight improvement over that one, as you can at least get some understanding of what he’s trying to do with this one. Then again, that’s little consolation in my eyes, as it’s still an unbelievably thin, pushy, pretentious and insufferable waste of time and talent that, like any bad art-house film, uses its sanctimonious auteurist form to pretend that Refn’s the best filmmaker ever and that he’s crafted some great, profound, disturbing and shocking look at its themes and subjects, when it’s just proof that he may not be as good a filmmaker as he thinks he is and has the most embarrassingly literal interpretation of old-hat concepts regarding show business, modeling and the female sexuality often tied into both.
The film is centered around Jesse (Elle Fanning), a 16-year-old blond girl from a small town who’s come to LA looking to become a model. She’s just had her first photoshoot with Dean (Karl Glusman), an aspiring photographer she met online who offered to take shots of her to shop around town and, after the shoot, she meets Ruby (Jena Malone), a makeup artist who, in between her part-time work as an assistant at the morgue, has connections in the fashion industry and thinks Jesse has potential. Ruby introduces Jesse to two models that Ruby often does makeup work for; Sarah (Abbey Lee) and Gigi (Bella Heathcote). Both Sarah and Gigi emphasize the idea of sexuality and/or plastic surgery as the most effective way to get ahead in the LA modeling world, while seeming a bit dismissive of the more reserved aura and appearance of Jesse. This, as well as encouragement from her wavering between friend and boyfriend Dean, inspires Jesse to go for an interview at Roberta Hoffman’s (Christina Hendricks) renowned modeling agency, who are looking for new girls to sign. Despite Jesse being underage, Roberta allows her to fudge her age and the parental consent form, allowing Jesse to be signed, with the thought by Roberta that her looks and style will make her a star. As you’d likely expect, the shoots Jesse is tasked with doing are highly sexualized, especially with Hoffman’s top photographer Jack (Desmond Harrington) being so taken by Jesse that he demands closed set nude shoots for her to do. This helps Jesse become a quickly rising talent in the industry, to the point where many of the other big fashion icons are instantly smitten with Jesse and want a piece of her, but this creates tensions with Sarah and Gigi, who aren’t used to being rejected and losing contract work, as well as with Dean, who knows Jesse’s underage, but has still developed feelings for her and fears she’s drifting away from, and with Ruby, who also is starting to view herself as a protector of Jesse’s and, perhaps, something more. Meanwhile, we get a group of bizarre and twisted developments regarding Hank (Keanu Reeves), the violent and pedophilic owner of the Pasadena motel that Jesse is staying at, as well as attempts by Sarah and Gigi at revenge against Jesse.
Director Refn (who uses his initials NWR throughout the opening and closing credits, I guess to tell how deep and important a director he thinks he is, though he really hasn’t been showing it recently) has stated that this movie was intended to be a tribute, of sorts, to Russ Meyer’s 1970 film, Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls. To say it, in my eyes, misses the point of Meyer’s cult classic goes without saying, but I can at least see what Refn was trying to do here, which is to paint a surrealistic, supernatural and grotesque metaphor about our concept of beauty, fashion, celebrity and the industries associated with all three ideas. Specifically, through Jesse, it’s challenging the idea of female beauty/sexuality, the life of models (particularly those who, like, her, are of the barely legal and Lolita small-town runaway varieties), the vapidity and looks-obsessed industry and, of course, her modeling peers in Gigi and Sarah who will do anything to be the best and stay relevant, while also having its elements of jazzing those themes up with Refn’s signature mind-tripping scenes tied to Jesse and the other characters. Too bad for Refn that he’s two years too late with this film, since in 2014, Jonathan Glazer made Under The Skin (my 8th best film that year), a similar mind-trip that explored many of the same concepts and perceptions of female beauty and eroticism as this, but was infinitely better and more engrossing. In addition, Under The Skin also had interesting, consistent and well-developed characters, better thought-out and more intriguing messages and avant-garde detours that worked as inherently watchable and interesting cinema that tied to the narrative without feeling aggressively pushy, unpleasant or boring.
The Neon Demon has none of those things, starting with its concepts about Jesse and the fashion world it’s depicting. In a sense, my typing the next passage you’ll read is kind of a spoiler of the movie, (which I almost believe was done on purpose to shield the film from this criticism), but it needs to be said; the movie’s look at it topics is ultimately nothing more than forming a literal interpretation of the concept of the high-stakes world of celebrity, fashion and beauty eating you alive. I won’t go too far into exactly how the film does that (because it does it in many ways that I won’t reveal), but it’s a massively lazy, arch, pathetic and ugly cop-out that undoes Refn’s argument of giving us this brave, unique and thought-provoking twist on these familiar themes and archetypes. Some may think “oh, this is just a great twist concept,” but it can’t even do that right, because the movie telegraphs that concept so obviously by telling us the same idea, so that I could easily predict it going in that direction and, when it got there, it was just ugly and disgusting shock value that lacks any hint of intelligent or interesting commentary or filmmaking. Also, by that point, I had long stopped caring about the movie or any of the characters in it, since we don’t get to know enough about the characters to be invested or make the film’s points resonate, especially regarding Jesse. She’s supposed to be the protagonist here, obviously, so why is it that I feel that I didn’t learn anything about her aside from being a young, naïve runaway looking for stardom in LA’s fashion industry? Maybe it’s supposed to be a commentary of how the industry often seems to idolize good-looking, but empty-headed cyphers as the next big thing, but I doubt it, because that’s what Sarah and Gigi represent. By comparison, Jesse is not the most attractive looking model we see, but they respond to the fact that she’s natural in her appearance and persona, which is subverting the cliché of the fashion world never seeing beauty as anything but skin-deep. So why can’t we get a good sense of who Jesse is, too? That would have also helped Jesse’s change in motivations after she begins her industry rise not feel like they’re completely random, particularly given how she quickly becomes cold and vapid (especially in regards to Dean, who then just disappears from the movie completely). Same goes for the other characters, especially Ruby, Sarah and Gigi, as we don’t get enough of a concept of how they reached their changed perspectives, as if the film is missing scenes.
Then again, I guess Refn would justify that by his seeming idea that we won’t care about how skimpy the film’s narrative is, because we apparently love his bizarre and interludes, complete with his trademark gaudy colors, wide and antiseptic rooms/hallways and punishing synth-heavy music. In his films like Bronson and Drive, I have no problem with it, but here, they stop the plot dead in its tracks, are suffocating, dull, aggravating and embarrassingly on-the-nose in how they tangentially connect to the narrative and made me feel like he’s self-consciously trying to make the movie seem more deep and profound than really it is. In addition, the dialogue is arch and obvious (and it can’t be passed off as "oh, this is a reflection of how empty-headed models/people in the industry are" when every character not connected to it is the same way), the film’s way too long and draggy at 2 hours and the performances are all merely passable, even by usually interesting and underrated actors like Elle Fanning, Keanu Reeves, Desmond Harrington and Jena Malone. Again, I don’t know what’s going on with Refn as a director, because he’s certainly daring and has talent, but that just makes this one even worse and proves that when talented filmmakers fall, they go down hard and the results are often not pretty.
7. Nocturnal Animals
2009’s A Single Man was a pretty excellent debut film by former fashion designer Tom Ford, looking at the insular life of a 1960s English professor struggling with the death of his male lover and his societal alienation relating to the real-life events of the time (specifically, the Cuban Missile Crisis) and his semi-closeted homosexuality. It was a film that somehow felt realistic and dream-like at the same time and it had Ford’s assured direction, a tangible atmosphere, a lack of pretension and some excellent performances (most notably by its lead, Colin Firth) to make it all work. Here we are 7 years later with Ford’s second film, Nocturnal Animals, and let me tell you; “sophomore slump” doesn’t even begin to describe this one. It has similar ambitions of giving us an ethereal atmosphere and exploration of sexual hang-ups, as well as intentions of giving us deep and profound perspectives on the characters that make up this psychological drama/thriller hybrid, but this is an empty, painfully obvious, insufferably pretentious and extremely ugly disaster that represents a massive comedown for him and the amazing cast he assembled, as well as 2016’s Exhibit A of awful and sanctimonious films with awards season hopes that fooled some people into thinking it’s a profound and artistic masterpiece, but not me.
The opening shot of this movie shows us two fully naked and obese women (which the soft-focus camera ogles every inch of) gyrating in a performance art display, a clear sign of the film announcing itself as self-satisfied and embarrassingly "artsy" from the word “go” and diving further down the rabbit hole from there. Anyway, this sight turns out to be the latest project for an art gallery by curator Susan Morrow (Amy Adams), an insomniac woman who lives in a fancy house with her new husband, Hutton (Armie Hammer). Susan gets a package in the mail from her ex-husband, Edward (Jake Gyllenhaal), which contains a manuscript entitled Nocturnal Animals, which is the result of him finally writing a book after telling Susan and others for years that he eventually would. When Hutton leaves town for business, Susan starts reading Edward’s work and becomes deeply engrossed in the story, which we see acted out in between the scenes with Susan. The story of the book follows Tony (also played by Gyllenhaal) who, while on a road trip with his wife, Laura (Isla Fisher) and teenage daughter India (Ellie Bamber), is harassed by a group of lowlife reckless drivers, led by Ray Marcus (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), who eventually knock Tony’s car off of the road and psychologically torture him and his family. This results in the men kidnapping Laura and India, while leaving Tony alone in the Texas desert. Tony eventually is able to find his way to town and gets in contact with Bobby Andes (Michael Shannon), a hardened police officer who teams up with Tony to try and find Ray and his accomplices, while also, hopefully, finding Laura and India. In addition to this, we get flashbacks to the days of Susan and Edward’s relationship, starting with their first meeting and going through the moments in their marriage that would eventually bring an end to it. This is because Susan has these memories awakened as she reads the book, recognizing that it’s a clear metaphor for their failed marriage. From its themes, topics and characters, as well as the concept of it making Edward a heroic and proactive defender of himself and his family which, in their marriage and through most of his life, he was not, it’s a case of art imitating life that Susan is strongly reacting to, while also perhaps revealing that her current marriage and existence isn’t as great as it seems and the possible regrets that she may have over leaving Edward.
I feel like Tom Ford was trying to emulate David Lynch with this one, given how the latter often uses surreal and sometimes shocking imagery to effectively tap into the dramatic intrigue and, sometimes, extremely twisted humor related to human taboos and our personal demons/mental baggage. Indeed, the cinematically rare form of nudity in the opening that I snidely dismissed earlier is the kind of thing that I’ve seen Lynch do, but in the case of his best films, they take similar material, as well as other even bleaker concepts than we see here, and make them amount to something dramatically, while also drawing the audience into the off-beat, yet still authentic universe of its story and characters. I get that the point of this movie is to dive into the guts of relationships and emphasize the regrets, second thoughts, neuroses and emotional baggage that often connect to them, but unlike the aforementioned Lynch’s Eraserhead and Mulholland Drive (the latter of which I’ve heard this one ludicrously compared to in a favorable context), the narrative content here is pathetically shallow and obvious, while the bizarre stylistic touches are overcompensating, self-conscious, grotesque just for the sake of being grotesque and full of cynical, empty and insultingly on-the-nose symbolism that tries and fails to make the movie come off as more intelligent, profound and vital about its story and characters than it really is.
Ooh, Edward’s book is him airing out the dirty laundry of his marriage by writing himself into the role of Tom because he was a weak man when he was married to Susan and guess what? He’s weak here, too, but with an arc that gives him a chance to not be impotent (likely in more ways than one), while also emphasizing the Freudian mommy issues he’s working out by the treatment of Laura and India (who clearly are reflecting his marriage to Susan), as well as emphasizing how much of an empty progressive closet basket-case Susan is (which, in all honesty, he is correct about). Isn’t that clever? No, not really; it just seems like an empty, self-aggrandizing and ridiculous passive-aggressive game that Edward’s playing as an answer, I guess, to the same tactic Susan used when they were married, the latter of whom is now drawn into the book and wondering if maybe she was wrong with how coldly she treated him. Regardless, it’s not interesting or investing, because Susan and Edward are not sympathetic or particularly engrossing characters, there are multiple loose ends that waste time and add nothing to them or the plot (specifically, the infidelity of Hutton and what she saw in him to make her want to marry him) and also, because the structure of bouncing between the main plot, the flashbacks of Susan and Edward together and the story of the book make it so there’s no stakes here. We already know that their relationship is over and, no matter what happens in the book or the flashbacks, nothing’s really going to change in the main story because of their massive physical distance from each other (I believe she’s in California and he’s on the East Coast) and their now totally different lives. You’d think that the ending of the film would be the key to making everything we see matter regarding the trajectories of Susan and Edward, particularly in connection with the book, but it doesn’t, as it boils down to simplistic moralizing in an unfulfilling and abrupt open-ended close that feels as if it’s only like that so it can claim that it’s not a quick and tidy resolution and that the movie has “depth” and “layers,” which it doesn’t.
As far as the story of Edward’s manuscript is concerned, it’s pretty clichéd and predictable pulp revenge crime fare with some really repulsive and exploitative narrative spice to really force its sense of menace. Specifically, I had a big problem with Ray and his goons, who are so over-the-top with how repugnant they are, both in terms of their appearance and actions, that every scene with them took me out of the film. Yet, the movie relishes in them and their exploits, to the point of kind of sexualizing them, particularly as it relates to their treatment of Laura and India and even to a bizarre and (allegedly) darkly comedic scene where Ray is using a toilet that he has on his front porch and is asking permission to wipe before he can talk to Bobby, who came by to investigate. Also not helping is the performance by Aaron Taylor-Johnson as Ray, since he’s just an empty creep who’s unctuously trying too hard to be threatening and only succeeding in spots because of the inherent seediness of the material and who, again, is such a massive turn-off that I couldn’t stay invested (not that I was drawn in much anyway). I constantly get into arguments with friends as to whether Johnson’s worst acting was in 2014’s Godzilla (which I say he was fine in), but his role here is the one I’d give that dubious distinction to, and I’d like to think that those who hated him in Godzilla would be begging for that role again after seeing him here.
Come to think of it, most of the acting in this film is sub-par or the actors are just wasted, despite some pretty big talent on display here. Amy Adams as Susan is stilted and dull, but not for a good story reason or in a particularly intriguing way (unlike, say, her far better role in the recent Arrival), Johnson, as I said, is awful, Armie Hammer is bland and pushy as Hutton, and Isla Fisher, Jena Malone, Michael Sheen and Laura Linney contribute so little to the film that they’re only worth mentioning to remind people that “hey, they’re in this” (Linney is only in one scene as Edward’s mother, where she adds less weight and importance than her turn in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Out Of The Shadows, of all things). The only performance here that I liked is from Michael Shannon as Bobby, especially because he has a semi-interesting (if not kind of stock) arc and some good rapport and chemistry with Jake Gyllenhaal, the latter of whom is only of note in the scenes he shares with Shannon (outside of that, he’s mannered to a distracting and off-putting degree, while making me depressed that, after his career-best performance in Nightcrawler, Gyllenhaal’s lost his touch badly given this, Demolition and Southpaw). Actually, I could see those two actors working well in a movie that’s just in the style of the story of the book here, as they’ve shown before that they’re up to the task and their scenes also have a few jump scares that did work on me. Then again, I’m basically saying that Ford should have ditched most everything here and made a completely different movie than what Nocturnal Animals ended up being, which if it turned out not being the slick, talent-wasting, vile and pretentious junk that this is, would have been fine by me.
8. Ghostbusters
Oh yeah, I’m goin’ there. We all know about the Ghostbusters movie we got this year from Bridesmaids director Paul Feig, which ignited a firestorm of controversy over the fact that it was not a continuation of the story from the two 1980s films, but a new one with 4 women in the lead roles. The announcement of this resulted in outrage and worry over its trailers from hardcore fans of the originals, some of which was repulsively sexist, while we also got screams of sexism from social justice warriors convinced this it having women in it would make it better than the earlier films, some of which was also beyond the pale, most notably the debate-destroying rhetoric coming from director Feig himself, who went on Twitter tirades against fans and critics that are much too vulgar for me to print here (even against some people who were being reasonable and not sexist in their skepticism over the film and yes, there were those who were against this picture before its release without being misogynistic about it). Too bad for Feig then, that the early suspicions of his Ghostbusters were totally justified, because this is a slapdash, immature, draggy, unfunny and warmed-over disaster that’s less interested in being a funny current-day twist on an 80s classic than being a politically correct apology for it and the era that saw its release. Not to mention, in the most ironic of twists, this awful film is sexist as all get out, proving that Feig, the massively overrated (seriously, I haven’t recommended any film of his) and so-called “most female-friendly male comedy director,” is a massive hypocrite with even more massive deflection issues.
Like the original, the film opens with a paranormal attack and then, shifts to Columbia University, where this time, Dr. Erin Gilbert (Kristen Wiig) is currently on the tenure track and is reminded of a book she once published that supposedly contained evidence that ghosts are real. Erin’s former colleague, Abby Yates (Melissa McCarthy), tipped off another publisher about the book, because Abby wants her and Erin to reunite and get back to proving that ghosts are real, while Erin wants to bury it all, fearing it’ll jeopardize her chances at tenure. After the dean of Columbia, Harold Filmore (Charles Dance), finds out about Erin’s past via a Youtube video of her and Abby apparently seeing a ghost, Erin’s fired, as are Abby and her new partner, Jillian Holtzmann (Kate McKinnon), so the three women steal some equipment from Columbia (because theft = feminism, right?) and open up their own paranormal studies shop. They’re particularly curious about a group of reported sightings of ghosts around New York, despite the claims of a famous ghost debunker, and they get a particularly strong lead when they meet Patty (Leslie Jones), an African American MTA subway worker who claims she saw a ghost on the tracks. Using Jillian’s ghost-catching equipment from her uncle and an old hearse, the four women, including Patty, begin seeking and busting ghosts all around town, while their dim secretary, Kevin Beckman (Chris Hemsworth), holds down their headquarters, located above a Chinese takeout shop. Meanwhile, a male loner named Rowan (Neil Casey) seems to be connected to all the ghost attacks happening and the recent sightings have caught the eye of Mayor Bradley (Andy Garcia) and his assistant Jennifer Lynch (Cecily Strong), who balance between wanting the new Ghostbusters’ help and keeping the public calm.
There are a few things I want to explain up-front before I go on. First of all, though I love the original Ghostbusters film from 1984, I didn’t first see it until 2004 and I still haven’t seen 1989’s Ghostbusters 2, so I don’t have a nostalgic horse in this race when I say this new movie’s junk. Second, I don’t hate this movie because the new Ghostbusters are female and, even though it’s a very sad statement on American society that I even need to say something as obvious as this, I’m not against the concept of female Ghostbusters. Indeed, it’s possible to make a more feminist take on a popular 80s series that also captures the so-called testosterone-fueled aura that it originally became a hit for, which was the case with last year’s Mad Max: Fury Road. That film was my pick for the best movie of 2015 for, among other things, emphasizing its new feminist angle in a wonderfully organic way via the Furiosa character, which wonderfully dovetailed with and was effectively balanced between the more machismo angle of Max, both in context of that movie and in that series’ past 3 installments. Ghostbusters’ feministic approach is not organic and, like Terminator Genisys last year, the movie’s push for it gives off the aura that there’s something morally unacceptable with the 1984 original not having women in the lead roles. If the earlier films were hateful in some way, that would be one thing, but both The Terminator and Ghostbusters showed stronger female portrayals for the time than they’re given credit for, the former due to Sarah Connor’s strong and active female presence alongside John Connor (along with her basically being the savior of the galaxy) and the latter due to both Annie Potts’s Janine and Sigourney Weaver’s Dana, who had dimension, depth and a personal drive separate from the male leads that still stood out. So, if these two movies are arguing that the originals were sexist, which I say they are, they don’t know what they’re talking about, not to mention that neither of these modern versions show any gratitude to their classic inspirations because, let’s be honest; they’d never exist without the originals.
Meanwhile, this Ghostbusters movie is sexist, and I’m not talking about the way it paints its male characters (I guess you could argue that by how it makes Kevin such an obvious and unfunny idiot and Rowan a walking, talking, self-aggrandizing self-commentary on the film’s pre-release controversy, but it’s more pathetically cheap and lazy to me than hateful). We were told that the idea of the female Ghostbusters movie was to break the patriarchy by subverting the usual Hollywood female character clichés, but shockingly, it’s actually reinforcing those stereotypes by the insulting way it draws its leads, which was the last thing I expected. Outside of their science knowledge, which is just thickly laid on for expository purposes that aren’t interesting, logical or humorous, Erin, Abby and Jillian are just quip-machines with no personalities or interesting development, except for the aforementioned female character stereotypes, which the film repeatedly bombards us with like a bad sitcom and which none of the actresses can overcome. Erin’s supposed to be a strong, independent woman, but that’s undone by how film portrays her as the typical meek and quiet nerd who’s suddenly and unbelievably attracted to the first hot guy she sees (Kevin) and, in a later scene played for cheap and unearned pathos, tells us she was bullied as a child. As far as Abby and Jillian are concerned, Abby’s a rehash of the now beyond tired Melissa McCarthy fat-shaming shtick with her constantly falling down, yelling and being obsessed with food, (the Chinese place is constantly getting her dumpling order wrong), and Jillian’s a pushy, endlessly free-spirited, reckless and empty science girl-power wizard who thinks she’s funnier than she really is.
Yeah, with tropes like those, these characters aren’t exactly empowering or breaking the mold by how they’re depicted (certainly not like Furiosa in Fury Road) but worst of all, they’re not funny either, despite the past talents of Wiig, McCarthy and McKinnon. Also, director Feig makes the same mistake here that he did with Bridesmaids; he thinks these actresses are so funny and that every line they speak is comedic gold, that he lets them riff on and on in every so-called comedic scene, which drags them out way past the point where they might have had a shot at being funny, kills the pace of the film and made me resent the cast and crew for their unwillingness to show some restraint (the scene set to Debarge’s Rhythm Of The Night is a perfect example of that and there are many others begging for a good editor). As far as Patty’s concerned, she’s also a stereotype and, on paper, a potentially racist one, given her constant attitude, street smarts and jive-talking, but to be honest, she’s the character I liked the most here because, unlike Wiig, McCarthy and McKinnon, Leslie Jones is able to rise above her underwritten role. Jones’s delivery and cynical outlook was refreshing and better in practice than I expected from what we saw of Patty in the trailers, to the point where I did smile a couple of times at some of her cracks (which, interestingly enough, make me think of her as this new team’s closest equivalent to Bill Murray’s Peter Venkman from the earlier movies, as opposed to some arguing Wiig’s Erin does that) and where I wished the whole movie was about her. The idea of a character I already like (more than any of the other leads) in a working-class job who has the talents and knowledge of New York City and the subway system that Patty has getting involved with the paranormal herself, I think, would be a great idea for the Ghostbusters enterprise. It could fit in with many of the themes of the series, while also changing it up on the angle of being a solo paranormal warrior/entrepreneur and also, being an African American woman breaking through to success, perhaps by learning about the technological stuff on the internet and buying the old Ghostbusters’ gear on eBay (almost like Nightcrawler if it were a comedy). But now, I’m just giving free advice about the film I’d like to have seen instead of the one I actually saw.
Even with Jones making a good impression and with this being a slightly better Melissa McCarthy movie than The Boss (a low bar to clear, as I specified earlier), none of that is enough to save the film, or make up for its other issues. The film’s humor, along with just not being funny, is frequently desperate and, at times, crude in a way that doesn’t work and doesn’t fit with this enterprise (hit to the groin jokes? No thanks), the Ghostbusters fan service, with one globular exception, is flat and pathetic, the special effects are bad (and not in an “I’m paying homage to the past” way), the villainous Rowan is just creepy and not an interesting or memorable antagonist, the movie’s way too long at 2 hours and the editing is atrocious, with scenes that transition abruptly, lack cohesion and/or drop earlier subplots entirely, as if the film wasn’t finished or, more likely, was cut down from an R rating to a "family friendly" PG-13. Thankfully, despite Feig and Sony demanding we like/accept this and vilifying/labeling us if we didn’t, America saw that this Ghostbusters was just an unfunny and bad cash-grab that was cynically riding on the gender twist on its previously beloved male creation that can’t even do its social justice angle right and refused to support it. Now, where else did we see that deservedly happen in 2016? Hmm…
9. Ratchet & Clank
Ahh, the video game to movie adaptation. Since the 1990s, movie studios have taken popular video games series and turned them into movies in the hopes of getting long-time fans of the franchises to buy a ticket, while also convincing newcomers to do the same. Too bad that, with the exception, I’d say, of Hitman (the first one) and a few cases of guilty pleasures, like Dead Or Alive and some of the Resident Evil movies, there really hasn’t been a good video game movie adaptation, as they’ve failed as films, first and foremost, and also, failed to capture the essence of the game in question. This year, we got 4 movies based on video games (the others were The Angry Birds Movie and two I missed; Assassin’s Creed and Warcraft), but the one that got my attention and anticipation the most was Ratchet & Clank. This series, going back to the PlayStation 2 days (and continuing even today), was a fun and funny cartoony platform shooter with an appealingly sly and knowing sensibility about itself, so the idea of a CG animated movie based on the series sounded like a perfect fit and, when I heard it was co-written by T.J. Fixman, who wrote the scripts for the PS3 and PS4 Ratchet & Clank games, and was directed by TMNT director Kevin Munroe, whose first gig was directing a 2003 video game called Freaky Flyers, I thought this one couldn’t possibly fail. Yet, it turned out to be the worst animated film I saw this year, as well as a disgrace to this great series, but most ironically, it was a bad game adaptation that, amazingly, did capture the spirit of the franchise, while somehow still missing the point and screwing up.
The film is a loose retelling of the story from the original 2002 game, with the galaxy being taken over by Chairman Drek (Paul Giamatti), starting with him and his henchmen, the Blargg, destroying an abandoned planet. The attack gains the attention of the galaxy’s main heroes, the Galactic Rangers, led by their pompous and self-absorbed, but apparently beloved leader, Captain Quark (Jim Ward), who put out a talent search for a new face to add to their team to help fight and defeat Drek. Enter a young and orphaned lombax (think a bipedal bobcat and you get the idea) named Ratchet (James Arnold Taylor), a junk-shop mechanic’s assistant who’s a huge fan of the Galactic Rangers and dreams of making the cut and going on space-faring adventures with them, much to the dismay of his boss, Grimroth (John Goodman). Meanwhile, Drek has learned of the intended plan of the Rangers and breaks Quark’s arch nemesis, Dr. Nefarious (Armin Shimerman), out of jail to intimidate them and build a robot army to stop them, but not before one of the rejected robots they make hears of Drek and Nefarious’s plans, escapes from the factory and crash lands on Ratchet’s planet. Ratchet finds the robot, named Clank (David Kaye), and brings him along to try and join the Rangers which, because of Clank’s information, he’s able to, and the rest of the film follows Ratchet, Clank and the Rangers’ quest to stop Drek and Nefarious, as well as showing Quark’s jealously of Ratchet’s increasing popularity with his group and with the citizens following Ratchet and Clank’s successful rescue of the city from Drek’s initial robotic onslaught.
All the while, the movie has the same knowing and sly sense of humor as the video games, including the scene-setting text that skewers the self-important aura that usually comes with such displays and some of the smile-inducing PlayStation in-jokes, with references to other cartoony Sony game series like Sly Cooper and an audio cue that’s actually the boot-up jingle of the original PlayStation console. Finally, after years of video game movies not capturing the spirit of their subjects, Ratchet & Clank is one of the few that actually does it, yet I hated this movie, felt totally miserable watching it and all those things I mentioned that worked so well in the games fail terribly in this film translation. Considering how accurate it sounds like it is, how did that happen? I think it comes down to two things, both of which reflect my now shifted opinion that a video game movie being accurate alone is not enough to make it work. First, like Zack Snyder’s 2009 film translation of the graphic novel, Watchmen, it’s too accurate for its own good, to the point where it’s so obsessed with being a great movie version of the original source material, that it, ironically, doesn’t realize that it’s lost touch with the meaning of what they’re adapting.
Yeah, we have all the voice actors, characters, set-pieces, and narrative methods and beats of the Ratchet & Clank enterprise, but what of it? I didn’t feel any connection to this world or its inhabitants, even with my previous knowledge and fandom of the games, the jokey asides quickly get aggravating and repetitive in a way that the games never did, there’s a surprisingly mean streak here with the smart and nerdy characters being constantly mocked and shamed (hey, filmmakers, this series and the video game world it belongs to is always viewed with those stereotypes, is kept going by people who'd be pigeonholed into that cultural box and were clearly your target audience here; how stupid can you be by attacking them?), and the movie makes a big miscalculation in its depiction of the two main characters. In all of the games, Ratchet and Clank are inseparable from each other and the stories have both of them in the center of all the action and plot developments. The film, however, almost completely sidelines Clank by focusing on Ratchet and his clichéd arc of the passionate and talented nerd who keeps pushing for respect and his dreams, even as he’s getting smacked down in life. I don’t mind that the film starts with that approach, since it is consistent with developing Ratchet and Clank separately before bringing them together, just like the first game did, but I do mind that the movie tosses Clank aside after that, because the stuff without him isn’t interesting enough to make me forget it, what little development we do get of them together is poorly defined and lacks consistency (and even being a fan of the games like me doesn’t help that) and it ultimately squanders a great opportunity that the movie had to capture the main narrative strength from the games; the great chemistry and byplay between Ratchet and Clank. That, and it’s false advertising; I paid money to see Ratchet AND Clank, people.
The second main element that makes it fail, I think, is the filmmakers’ lack of understanding of the differences between the medium of cinema and the medium of video games. After seeing many films based on a work from a non-movie source over my years, I’ve ultimately come to the conclusion that it’s impossible to compare the success of a film to the success of a video game or, for that matter, a book, a comic, a stage play, a written play or any other medium you care to choose, because they’re intrinsically different art forms. What works in a video game may not easily translate to a film, just like the elements that make a movie work might not always be as effective in a game, because one is a passive medium and the other is an interactive one. Considering that director Kevin Munroe has worked in both mediums before, it’s surprising that he wasn’t able to imbue this film with the tricks he learned from his game experience or, for that matter, from his past movie experience. I kept thinking of his underrated 2007 film, TMNT, which kind of played like a fun mix of a movie and a game by giving us the characterizations that an animated film can bring, while also delivering some technically impressive looking and executed action scenes that we love having in a video game, which is best shown in that great courtyard fight scene that looked like something a game could have done, but adding cinematic flair to it, namely by impressively staging it to play out in a 5 minute long unbroken shot.
Ratchet & Clank, by comparison, doesn’t blend the two well because, despite its great voice cast (including the game’s cast, as well as usually dependable talents like Paul Giamatti and Sylvester Stallone), they’re wasted, not funny and they don’t make the characters interesting to grab us like a movie should, while on the game side, the action is badly staged and dull, the CG animation is shockingly bland (and doesn’t even look as good as the decade old PlayStation 3 Ratchet & Clank game, Tools Of Destruction, let alone the most recent PlayStation 4 one) and despite its stabs at capturing the spirit of the enterprise, it still fails to make us embrace, enjoy and accept it on that level as a representation of the series. The good news is that people mostly avoided this movie (though clearly, I didn’t) and it seems to have not had a negative effect on the game franchise, which is still the best way to get yourself acquainted with these great characters, especially since the cost of one of the old PS2 or PS3 games is likely cheaper than either the original ticket price for this or its now bargain-bin destined DVD/Blu-Ray.
10. The BFG
Wow, this was an awful year for live-action fantasy adaptations based on books because, out of all the ones I saw in 2016, not a single one was good. The BFG, to be fair, is probably not as bad a movie in that category as the other two that I’ll be tearing apart in my 11-20 list, but the reason that this made the list over those is because its badness is more upsetting and unacceptable to me. Let’s be honest here; when you scroll down and see the names of those other two similar films, I guarantee that, if you really think about the recent pedigree of their series and/or directors, the appearance of their lack of quality to me will not at all be surprising to you, regardless of whether you agree with me or not. However, The BFG, even more than the also crushing Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them, is the book-to-movie fantasy this year that sounded like an obvious home run, given that it’s based on the famous Roald Dahl novel (which, for once, makes this a film based on a book where I’ve actually read the book), it was written by the late scribe of E.T., Melissa Mathieson, it’s shares the same director as E.T., Steven Spielberg and the title role was given to the great Mark Rylance, who deservedly won an Oscar last year for his role in Spielberg’s previous film, Bridge Of Spies (my 10th best movie of 2015). In fact, this sounded so great to me that, of all the major movies that came out last summer, this is the one I was looking forward to the most, which made it all the more painful and rage-inducing that it ended up as an empty, dull, emotionally inert and off-putting style over substance mess that's as bad a movie from Spielberg since, ironically, the last film he opened on 4th Of July weekend, 2005’s War Of The Worlds.
The movie opens just like the book does, with young orphan Sophie (Ruby Barnhill) suffering from insomnia and finding herself awake yet again at 3 am at the London orphanage she lives at. She calls this time “the witching hour,” where she goes out to her balcony to look out and see if any monsters, like those she reads about in her books, happen to show up. One night, she hears a noise and, when she looks out, she sees a giant running around the streets and, when the giant spots her, he takes Sophie away and back to his home in Giant Country. Sophie, having read in books that giants tend to have a penchant for eating children, fears for her safety, especially when the giant tells her that she’ll need to live with him forever to prevent the secret of giants from being revealed to “human beans,” as he calls them, but the giant turns out to be friendly and not interested in eating her. Actually, the giant, who Sophie then starts to refer to as BFG, or the Big Friendly Giant (played by Mark Rylance) has the power of capturing and disseminating dreams, with a particular interest of providing good dreams to children, hence his frequent midnight runs around London. That’s in direct contrast to a group of bigger and meaner giants, let by Fleshlumpeater (Jemaine Clement), who constantly harass the BFG and like nothing more than eating children, traits of which are intensified when they believe that the BFG is harboring a child. As the BFG tries to protect Sophie, she suggests that he fights back against the bullies, resulting in a scheme to manipulate the dreams of the Queen of England to keep both of them safe, as well as protect other children as it relates to potential death by consumption at the hands of the giants.
If you’re familiar with the book, like I am, you’ll be able to tell that this is actually a pretty faithful cinematic translation of the story, what with the setups, characters and lines of dialogue, particularly the made-up words (like snozzcumber and frobscottle) and the BFG’s different ideas of human terms and concepts. Also, the film certainly looks beautiful and appropriately other-worldly, thanks to some pretty vivid art direction and use of color (most effective in the scene in the realm of dreams), seamless CG of the giants, good cinematography by Janusz Kiminski and a convincing sense of scale between Sophie, the BFG and the other giants. Also, the lead performances by Rylance as the BFG and Barnhill as Sophie are expressive and did seem accurate to characters (though Barnhill is playing that stereotypical wide-eyed young "wise prior to her years" British girl trope a bit too heavily for me). So, if I like the way this film looks, enjoy the lead characters and are saying that it accurately captures the book’s story and atmosphere in the film, why do I hate it? Well, because like Ratchet & Clank, this is one of those “they know the words, but not the music” situations, where I didn’t feel any heart, humanity or connection to the world and characters that I got out of the book, effectively nullifying any of this film’s positives and its surface accuracy to the original source material. I say that the accuracy to the book is “surface” because, though it looks and seems to get everything right with its setup and technical elements, it fails to capture the underlying feelings related to them, specifically the bond between Sophie and the BFG.
It’s not that the movie rushes through or cuts down the scenes developing the relationship between the BFG and Sophie, because it doesn’t. The characters (and by extension, the audience) do get the time needed to talk, get to know each other and establish themselves and their bond, unlike too many other family films, including book adaptations like this, which tend to overcompensate and show their lack of audience trust by just throwing endless frenzy at us. Sounds perfect on paper, but in practice, I didn’t feel that their relationship was growing at all and I didn’t get a sense of the strange wonder and/or magic connected to this world. Maybe it’s because the film’s structure is so repetitive, as it’s mostly just going from Sophie and the BFG talking, the mean giants causing trouble, Sophie and the BFG escaping, a fantasy scene to solve Sophie and the BFG’s current problems and back again until the end. Some may wonder if I’m being hypocritical by criticizing this movie for the same story structure as the book while trashing the former and praising the latter, but this goes back to my “movies are a different medium” argument, where what comes off effectively in one medium doesn’t automatically work in another, and vice versa. This movie may be accurate to the book narratively speaking, but unlike the book, I am not feeling engrossed or touched by the film and, I’m sorry, that includes the usage of the made-up words which come off in the movie feeling like nothing but self-consciously precious shop-talk to cover up its failure to draw us into the world and its characters, its failure to tell this story in a way that doesn’t make me feel like it’s flimsy and repetitive and to elongate the movie’s length to 2 hours. Speaking of the length, I think that may be the other issue here; the pacing is way too slow and draggy and, since I’m not feeling the bond between Sophie and the BFG and, thus, I’m not caring about them in the way I should be, that becomes a negative, even knowing that a more deliberate pace should fit this story.
I couldn’t believe how uninterested and uninvested I was in this movie and, about halfway through, I could almost feel my stomach sinking as the realization came over me that “this movie isn’t ever going to start clicking with me” and that my most anticipated film of the summer was crashing and burning in front of my eyes. At this point, I started to mentally check out of this, as did the restless, talkative and, in one case, iPad using kids at my screening (suggesting that even kids might not like this, while also suggesting they’re incapable of common audience courtesy at the movies), but it was as the film entered its third act that it went beyond a massive personal disappointment into a never-ending time-waster that I actively resented in a soon rapidly growing fashion. I suggested earlier that the film wastes our time with the book’s fake words that it should have been able to use for character and world-building, but it really does that later on when the plot literally stops for that awful scene when Sophie and the BFG have breakfast at the palace. This is a 10-minute scene where literally nothing plot-related happens, despite the previous scene having them cement their plan to fight back against the giants, and the forced whimsy, overproduced production design and the self-consciously twee dialogue on display here drove me insane. And what’s the big payoff of that scene? A massive, pathetic and unfunny fart joke. Which reminds me, this film has a litany of scatological and crude humor that I don’t remember from the book (or remember being a turn-off), which is just unpleasant, ugly and desperate, including the other fart jokes induced by the BFG’s beloved frobscottle fizzy drink and the hits to the crotch that the mean giants take (hmm, maybe this movie doesn’t respect the intelligence of the audience after all).
Also, the evil giants themselves have nothing interesting going for them, except how repulsive they are, the only reason I care about the BFG and Sophie defeating them is so they’ll go away and also, regarding that plan they have to stop the giants, it actually exudes a pretty unintentionally awful moral to the story. Without giving too much away, the movie is telling us to follow our dreams at any cost, but when you think about how Sophie and the BFG use dreams to gain the assistance of the Queen to help them with the giants, it’s telling us that we should never give up on our dreams, even when they’re rooted in violence, ignorance and delusion as they end up being, a message that, considering the kind of world we’re living in now, isn’t something that anyone should be condoning, especially like this. So yeah, The BFG is a pretty awful movie coming from people who really should have known better and, after being so horribly crushed by this, it’s enough to make me more careful about anticipating films that seem, on the surface, to be a sure thing, as well as justification to write the following on the epitaph of the awful summer movie season that this came out during; "At least we got Finding Dory and Pete’s Dragon."
Now, for the 11-20 worst films of the year, listed in alphabetical order:
The Accountant
If you go by the review scores I gave to the films in this worst of essay, this crime thriller/drama from Miracle and Warrior director Gavin O'Connor about a world-wandering autistic Illinois accountant with a secret penchant for armed and unarmed combat, espionage and finding himself involved in corruption and murder plots is the one I liked most, given that I gave it 2 stars out of 4 (the other 19 films scored less). However, I also said that “I’m being a bit nice with that score” when I reviewed it, due to how impenetrable, uninteresting and empty it is and also, because of its quite ugly elements, especially its two-faced and ultimately hateful attitude towards people with autism. After thinking about The Accountant a little more and also, seeing how its offensive outlook at people with mental disabilities fits a pervasive and hateful pattern in modern films, I realize I was definitely being too kind to it and I can feel myself resenting it one more and more with each passing day, so it’s now on my bottom 11-20 list.
The movie stars Ben Affleck (who really had a horrible 2016 at the movies between this, Batman V Superman, Suicide Squad and, apparently, his own Live By Night) as Christian Wolff, an autistic accountant who’s brought in by John Lithgow’s Lamar Black to find the source of a multi-million-dollar leak in his robotics company’s bottom line, which was noticed by the company’s in-house account, Dana Cummings, played by Anna Kendrick. Meanwhile, because of Christian’s double-life between his local financial consulting and shady dealings with foreign criminals, he’s starting to be noticed by Treasury Department financial director, J.D King (J.K. Simmons), who wants more information about who Christian is and blackmails young analyst Marybeth (Cynthia Addai-Robinson) to help him. After figuring out where the leak is in record time, Christian is stopped by Lamar after the CFO of the robotics company mysteriously dies, but he was actually murdered by an assassin for knowing too much about their complex embezzlement/conspiracy plot against the company and soon enough, Christian and Dana’s lives are also threatened but, because Christian is such a capable fighter, they’re able to survive while Christian heads off to stop the people behind the scheme, all while J.D and Marybeth are closing in on him and while Christian takes his cues from the voice of a mysterious woman.
OK, first off, this story is way too jagged and throws so much information at the audience that we end up scratching our heads, but less in the “hmm, I wonder where this is going to go and I’m intrigued to see where it ends up” way than in the “I’m lost and I just don’t care anymore” way. Eventually, the movie also gives up on itself when J.D and Marybeth reach Christian’s now abandoned house, resulting in a scene where the story literally stops for 15 minutes as we sit there and watch J.D. explain everything to us that the movie should have been making clear to us before that point. From there, the film pushes towards its contrived, ridiculous and insulting ending and bombards us with choppy, uninteresting and, especially in the scenes set at night, incomprehensible action scenes that sickeningly relish in the suffering of the innocent victims and, at times, have the nerve to try and make that cruelty funny (the scene with the CFO and a local farming owning couple are particularly galling), all while showing us how Christian deals with the happenings around him and how his autism comes into play.
That latter point is where this movie really offended me because I myself have a form of autism and, though I understand the idea of giving a deeper psychological angle to the characters on paper, in practice, the autism material is full of logical holes and adds nothing but an excuse to stereotype Christian and, by extension, all autistic people as obsessives with a potential fighter/killer in them who are sometimes really funny with their inability to understand every social cue that so-called normal people claim to be able to pick up on instantly. Considering all the modern-day finger-waving we get from bleeding hearts (including many people in this cast and crew) about how we need to show respect to everyone who’s different, it’s disgustingly hypocritical that this film is taking that approach regarding Christian (as is the late-film moralizing about it and the reference to autism experts in the credits, who are either 1988 mentality quacks or, more likely, had their input ignored by the filmmakers) and, even worse, the film blows its obvious openings to actually do something dramatically interesting with autism in the context of the story. For example, when Christian and Dana first meet, she’s really nervous, has her own repetitive patterns and is constantly stuttering, which had me thinking “Great! She’s showing signs of less severe autism, which should add a unique dimension to their involvement in and bond during the conspiracy plot!” But no; she’s not autistic and, after the scene in the hotel, she totally disappears and their relationship ends up going nowhere and adding nothing. The acting and pacing are OK, I guess, but I don’t care about anything or anyone here and it’s offensive, so don’t waste your time.
Alice Through The Looking Glass
I didn’t see the 2010 live-action Alice In Wonderland film directed by Tim Burton, but it was apparently a tepidly reviewed box-office smash that eventually triggered a massive internet-fueled backlash against it. As such, we got its probably not so anticipated sequel, Alice Through The Looking Glass, this year, which Tim Burton skipped out on directing (he was busy making his own junky 2016 film that you may also soon be hearing about from me) and, as my introduction to this interpretation of Lewis Carroll’s stories about the girl who fell down the rabbit hole into a magical world without logic or consistency, it makes me even more glad that I missed the original, because this follow-up is a totally uninteresting, empty, soulless and pathetic excuse for a family fantasy movie. Apparently, audiences agreed, because this was a massive box office bomb and also, apparently, Disney themselves knew they had a disaster on their hands, as you can see signs all over this that even they didn’t have faith in it being worthwhile.
Don’t believe me on that last sentence? Well, in theaters, before the film began, we got the bewildering music video of Hearts On Fire by P!nk (a talented musician who has also shown great acting potential in the underrated Thanks For Sharing, but she's served poorly on both fronts here) that’s themed after the very movie that we’re about to see and even contains many of its big plot revelations. I get and like the idea of short subjects before Disney family movies, but music videos that spoil parts of the movie we paid for? Anyway, when the actual movie begins, we see Alice Kingsleigh (Mia Wasikowska) back in the real world as the captain of her father’s ship, The Wonder (that she’s able to be in a position of power like that in 19th century London is more of a fantasy than the Wonderland material, but never mind). When Alice returns to her home in London, she finds out that her father’s company and, by extension, the house of both her and her mother, was bought out by Hamish Ascot (Leo Bill), a man still bitter over Alice apparently refusing to marry him, but who agrees to give the deed to the house back if Alice turns over the ship to him. Alice refuses and, when she retreats to a room, she sees an old friend in Absolem the caterpillar, who’s now a butterfly (he’s voiced by the late Alan Rickman) and decides to follow him back to Wonderland. When Alice returns, she sees her other old friends, including Mirana (Anne Hathaway) and the Cheshire Cat (Stephen Fry), but quite tellingly, the Mad Hatter (Johnny Depp) is not among them. She’s told that the Hatter is in a deep depression and, when Alice visits him, he tells her that he’s come to think that his family somehow survived the attack on them by the Jabberwocky and begs Alice to help find them. To do this, Alice is told that she’ll need to travel through time, much to the chagrin of, well, Time (Sasha Baron Cohen), who controls it via his Chronosphere and who has a new girlfriend in the form of Alice’s old enemy, The Red Queen (Helena Bonham Carter). Alice steals it and travels back to find and save the Hatter’s parents, all while Time is trying to stop her from ruining the space-time continuum and while The Red Queen sees the opportunity to use the Chronosphere herself to become the legitimate queen she’s always dreamt of being and to reverse a childhood battle over tarts with her sister, Mirana, that’s about as pathetic a misunderstanding/third act conflict resolution element in a major release since that infamous “Martha” business in Batman V Superman.
Despite everything potentially interesting going on in this plot and its fantasy world setting of Wonderland, this movie is dead in the water the entire time and has nothing interesting on either a visual or narrative level to make us care about anything that happens. Regarding the film’s look, despite some decent use of color and special effects, there’s a lifeless quality to it all that keeps you at a distance from this supposedly magical setting, to the point where all I came away with was how much money was tossed at this production design that, at the end of the day, means nothing (that, and the film is too dark in many places, and I saw it in 2D; I’ll bet the 3D version was even worse on that front). In addition, the action scenes are dull (though at least they’re shot coherently enough) and the direction by James Bobin is flat and indistinguishable from any other pedestrianly directed live-action fantasy film. The film is even worse regarding its story and characters, starting with its time-travel elements that, like most movies about that, is just ridiculous, even as a fantasy, and is littered with stupid and unfunny time puns, as well as gaping loose ends and inconsistencies. I’ve had some people who actually liked this picture argue that "there's no reason for consistency in a Lewis Carroll adaptation” and, to their credit, their more recent familiarity with the book than me and claims that it’s an accurate translation of what’s often considered a daunting book-to-film subject is a valid point.
Even so, of what I remember from the Alice books, they still had their own twisted logic behind them that they dutifully followed to set up the stakes of the story and its characters and had us invested in the eventual outcome, while also making the heavy narrative lifting they asked of us feel worthy of that commitment. This movie asks us to just accept this lunacy at face value and shield itself in a lazy “come on, it’s Alice In Wonderland; nothing here has to make sense!” defense, even though the jokes aren’t funny, the plot is boring and has no respect for our intelligence, the film’s message of only being able to learn from the past and not change it is completely contradicted by the fact that they then change the past anyway with no effects on the future, the characters aren’t intriguing or likable and the performances are either just passable (Mia Wasikowska as Alice, but between this and last year’s Crimson Peak, she really needs a new agent) or just aggressively shrill, mugging and embarrassing (in particular, so-called “fantasy film maestros” Sasha Baron Cohen, Johnny Depp, Anne Hathaway and especially Helena Bonham Carter are so terrible here that even the no-name kid actors playing them as youths are acting better than them). The only positives are a late scene that gave me unintended joy over the possibility that all hope was lost for the forces of good (but I wasn’t supposed to feel that way and it’s soon nullified anyway) and the fact that this tanked massively enough to prevent a third Alice film, but they’re not enough to redeem this empty mess. Then again, I guess it does continue an annual pattern with Disney releasing live-action family film bombs on Memorial Day weekend after last year’s Tomorrowland, but even that massive misfire was infinitely better that this.
Captain America: Civil War
I really let DC Comics’ film division have it this year, given that I put both their Batman V Superman and Suicide Squad on my 10 worst list, but to all you comic fans gloating that Marvel Studios did better than DC did in 2016, you may want to get off your high horse, because they honestly didn’t do much better themselves. I’ll admit that Doctor Strange was decent enough, despite its refusal to commit to anything, but Marvel also had their own equivalent to Batman V Superman this year in Captain America: Civil War, the third film in their series about the patriotic plucked-from-the-1940s superhero and, as someone who loved the first two movies about Cap/Steve Rogers and his adventures in both the past and present, this was a dull, bloated, cynical and crushing misfire that robs this series of its defining attributes and characters and reveals its true colors as a shameless cog in both this now going too far Marvel Cinematic Universe business and, ultimately, the Disney/Marvel fanboy/fangirl money making machine.
You may think I’m being out of line by even mentioning Batman V Superman in the same sentence as this, but the narrative parallels here are obvious and undeniable. After Captain America (Chris Evans) and his new band of Avengers end up causing unintended collateral damage and death as they fight against group of villains, there’s a push by the world governments and Tony Stark/Iron Man (Robert Downey Jr.) against it that leads to a 2 ½ hour ethical debate about superhero morality/vigilantism in which Cap thinks that the world wants and needs superheroes’ help and are prepared for the unintended consequences and in which Stark argues the opposite viewpoint. This ultimately leads to a group of many Marvel Comics characters coming together and battling it out both intellectually and physically, including not just Iron Man and Cap, but also other figures with future individual movies being made about them, including Black Panther and Spider-Man and, in the third act, the big battle between Iron Man and Cap is tied to the mother of one of them.
Seriously, how is that not the exact same movie as Batman V Superman? Well, to be fair, this is better than Zack Snyder’s film, as it lacks that one’s hateful and misogynistic rancor, there are a few scenes that are decent and, though it does nothing to make me hate the narrative needlessness of them or the shameless plugging of their future movies, the introductions to the new characters, particularly Spider-Man, are interesting and kind of fun, unlike the literal walk-ons of the ones in Batman V Superman. On the other hand, at least that movie was up front about the idea that it was going to simultaneously be a Batman film and a Superman film (even as it did it badly); Civil War, on the other hand, is selling itself as a Captain America movie, but it’s mostly sidelining Cap, his story and the ancillary faces related directly to his series in favor of giving more attention to Tony Stark (whose character in this film, unlike the others with him in it, is so one-note in his righteousness that I kind of hated him), as well as cramming in all of the hasty character introductions, sideplots and the future films it’s shamelessly trying to set up. Honestly, this feels more like a bad Avengers sequel that lacks focus and has no concern for anyone in the audience who hasn’t seen every single Marvel Studios movie (and I’ve seen most of them, aside from the last two Iron Man films, and I still felt lost by some of the stuff here), which not only alienates newcomers, but also people like me who paid money to see a Captain America movie with him and his exploits as the primary focus.
Even if I were able to look past all of that, the film still wouldn’t be interesting or entertaining, because the story is all over the map, the changes in the characters' motivations are completely random, the villain, like most Marvel films, sadly, is forgettable and has a pathetic scheme that’s made even more pathetic by the idiotic reasons for it and the unearned stabs at empathy, the attempts at humor fall flat and, most shocking and unacceptable of all, the action scenes are atrocious. Seriously, this film shares the same directors and crew as the last Captain America film, The Winter Soldier, which had some of the most tense, well-shot, well-constructed, exciting and exquisite action scenes of any major studio release in the past few years, comic book film or otherwise, so why do the ones in this movie fall into all of the traps that the previous film avoided, particularly its endless and headache-inducing quick cuts and those laughably bad and sped-up special effects? Also, despite my pacing problems with Winter Soldier, at least that one only dipped in the last 30 minutes; this one’s dull throughout and it runs even longer. I don’t know what happened with this one and I was really surprised at just how much I disliked it, but even so, because it seems that few people are willing to say that “the emperor has no clothes” with these Marvel Studios films, this still made tons of money and was loved by comic fans. Good for them, but for me, this is exactly the kind of cynical comic Marvel movie product that Deadpool so effectively lampooned, and it’s damaged (hopefully just temporarily) probably my favorite Marvel film series.
The Edge Of Seventeen
Have you ever wanted a John Hughes style coming-of-age teenage comedy/drama for the snowflake culture (of which we’ve seen and heard from a lot of over the past few years, let alone the past few months) that pretends to be an honest, darkly funny and intriguingly authentic look at teenage life, but is actually completely ignorant and fraudulent of basic human nature and psychology related to teenagers, while also failing to be investing, funny or credible in any way? I haven’t, but that’s what we got out of The Edge Of Seventeen, a film that a lot of critics liked, as they’ve argued that it’s a great progressive and feminist genre-twist and authentic look at young female life/growth that many teenagers, especially young girls, will be able to easily relate to. Well, as someone with a concept of mental illness, words this movie religiously refuses to ever let cross its lips, I say that this doesn’t know what it’s talking about and it’s also a long, predictable, painfully mannered, inauthentic and regressive effort, especially in comparison to an infinitely better, similar and deeply underappreciated animated film from last year ironically led by the same actress that plays the protagonist here (more on that later).
The film is about Nadine Franklin, played by Haile Steinfeld who, as the movie opens, we see entering the office of her Mr. Bruner (Woody Harrelson) and telling him that she’s going to kill herself. We then go back in time to see how Nadine got to the point, starting with her childhood where she was never as popular as her brother, Darian (Blake Jenner), was often picked on by the kids at school and seemed distant from her mother, Mona (Kyra Sedgwick). However, she still had her father, Tom (Eric Keenleyside) and her then new best friend, Krista (Haley Lu Richardson) to keep her happy. As Nadine grows up, Tom dies of a heart attack to the tune of Billy Joel’s You May Be Right (because apparently, we didn’t have enough heart attack deaths set to Billy Joel in the movies after The Hangover Part 3 did the same thing using My Life), which devastates her and her family and now, at the age of 17, Nadine finds out that Krista is in love with Darian and that they’ve slept together, which sends her over the edge. In response, Nadine refuses to talk to Krista, is angry, defiant and mean against basically everyone close to her and begins to get the hots for Nick Mossman (Alexander Calvert), a boy who recently got out of reform school for his bad behavior. Meanwhile, Nadine starts a tentative bond with the awkward, but still kind boy, Erwin Kim (Hayden Szeto), while Mr. Bruner tends to be on the receiving end of Nadine’s sass, which he often takes and then, dishes back out at her tenfold. We also get a subplot about Mona trying to date again, along with the stories of Krista and Darian, the former wanting to make up with Nadine, the latter basically holding the entire family together, especially with Nadine being how she is now, and both trying to balance their healthy and loving relationship with their bonds to Nadine.
The film wants you to believe that this story is about a teenage girl struggling through hard situations that are exacerbated by being a moody 17-year-old, but that’s a lie. In reality, it’s actually about a hateful, smug and selfish girl (even by teenager standards and even with her baggage) with clear psychological problems that the movie bends over backwards to avoid honestly dealing with. This movie is set in 2016, a time when increasingly destructive, self-loathing and hateful behavior from teenagers like Nadine, which includes her mean-spirited and delusional putdowns towards most everyone, the threats she makes towards others and herself (including her claim that she’ll kill herself) and her push for a sexual tryst with Nick, are no longer viewed as just “part of being a teenager,” but as a sign of serious mental health issues. On the home front, Mona’s lack of help with Nadine and, for that matter, Darian, isn’t believable or emphasizing enough that she’s not mentally capable to help her daughter (perhaps because her husband suddenly died, but they fought a lot anyway and she’s pretty quick to try and become sexually involved with a man who turns out to be married, so I don’t feel it) and, at school, the lack of Mr. Bruner calling up a guidance counselor or even Mona after a barrage of troubling comments by Nadine is totally false (in 2016, a public school that, in a post-Columbine world, is likely trained to spot the signs of psychological issues, would not just ignore Nadine’s obvious issues).
How this so-called realistic look at modern teenage angst thought it was OK to try and bury the clear evidence that its lead is psychologically disturbed is beyond me, as is the fact that it’s justifying and glorifying Nadine’s behavior every step of the way without holding her accountable for what she does. It would be one thing if this film had at least introduced the possibility of mental illness (outside of a token line about her taking anti-depressants and the ending that sweeps even a hint of emotional honesty about Nadine’s mindset under the rug completely), because when mental issues are involved in relation to bad behavior, there has to be a balance between what can be said for the person to have be held responsible for doing and when the illness is talking. But even then, we’d still need to have a rooting interest in Nadine and believable development of her to make her earn my sympathy and understand for her struggles, which we do not get. I’m sorry, but as portrayed here in Steinfeld’s pushy performance and with this ignorant and self-conscious script, she’s an unctuous, unpleasant, unfunny (just like the film, by the way) and selfish person who brings everyone around her down to her level of depression and self-hatred if she doesn’t get what she wants and someone who I sided against every time a character in the movie correctly tells her something along the lines of “you’re wrong; get over it.”
Flat out, this movie doesn’t play fair with its lead character and the obvious realities about her and the real-world she’s living in, which sinks the entire thing, despite a few positives in the few scenes between Nadine and Erwin, as well as the lack of high school teenage movie clichés, particularly from Blake Jenner, quite good in the surprisingly not stereotypically jockish sports star role of Darian. Writer/director Kelly Fremon Craig publicly said this film is intended as a John Hughes tribute with a more modern spin on it, which only proves how phony, ugly and both comedically and dramatically deficient this film is, as Hughes often looked deeply at the psychological angles of his young characters, while contrasting the different worldviews of youths and adults and showing how they can meet in the middle (Jennifer Grey’s similar character in Ferris Buller’s Day Off comes to mind). Also, going back to that animated film I mentioned that’s a lot like this, perhaps Craig should have paid attention to Hiromasa Yonebayashi's When Marine Was There, which was also about a mentally troubled and depressed teen girl with family tragedies and had Hallie Steinfeld voicing the lead and giving a better and more believable performance, and you should see that one over this overrated and insulting junk.
Hail, Caesar
The 1950s Hollywood golden age throwback movie is a sub-genre that’s really been languishing in a sorry state over the past year with such pathetic recent excuses for reliving that era such as Trumbo, Café Society and… well, another film I’ll be roasting at the end of this 11-20 list. Sadly, the usually reliable and interesting Coen brothers, Joel and Ethan, only kept that trend going this year with their contribution, Hail, Caesar, a movie that was generally well-liked, but to me, was a really dull, empty, inexplicable and, honestly, kind of masturbatory exercise in Hollywood style and star power that I kept hoping would get me invested or click with me regarding its meaning and purpose, but it never did.
The movie is a heavily fictionalized look at 1950s Hollywood studio fixer Eddie Mannix (Josh Brolin), who works in this film for Capitol Pictures, a studio all about uplifting and high-class cinematic entertainment. Two of the biggest films being currently filmed on the lot are Hail, Caesar, a biblical epic similar to Ben Hur and starring the studio’s biggest contract star, Baird Whitlock (George Clooney), and Merrily We Dance, a Broadway play translation starring and marking a stylistic change for Western star Hobie Doyle (Alden Ehrenreich), much to the chagrin of its director, Laurence Laurentz (Ralph Fiennes). Both films run into troubles, the latter due to problems with Hobie’s performance and the former because Baird has been kidnapped by a group of former screenwriters turned communists called The Future, who attempt to recruit Baird to help them and later, send a ransom demand to Eddie. Elsewhere, DeeAnna Moran (Scarlett Johansson) is revealed to be pregnant out of wedlock, threatening the image of the studio and two twin columnists, Thora Thacker and Thessaly Thacker (both played by Tilda Swinton), come calling to Eddie for different reasons, all of which add the multitude of situations that Eddie needs to handle, while also dealing with his own issues with his home life and his sense of personal failings that sends him to confession at his Catholic church to a degree that even the priest says is far too often. In between, we also get some side-stories (if some of them even qualify for “stories”) with Burt Gurney (Channing Tatum), an actor in a musical about romance-seeking sailors on a brief shore leave, C.C. Calhoun (Frances McDormand), the editor of Merrily We Dance, Arne Seslum (Christopher Lambert), the director with a connection to DeeAnna, Carlotta Valdez (Veronica Osorio), an actress that Hobie is set up with to manipulate his image and Joe Silverman (Jonah Hill), a notary worker who works on the side to help Eddie fix his specific problems.
There’s a lot going on in this movie and, if I had to guess, I think this is intended to be similar to Robert Altman’s 1992 masterpiece, The Player, which was also a comedy/satire about the assorted happenings at a Hollywood studio with one major character surrounding a group of sideline vignettes and other characters. To be honest, though, I’m not sure if I’m reading the point of this film correctly, but even if I am, it’s nowhere near as interesting or funny as The Player was and I found it so boring that I found myself having to fight really hard to stay awake while watching it, and I was totally awake when it began. Also, though I understand that there’s the overarching plot following Eddie, I didn’t feel that he was connected nearly enough to everything and I felt as if the movie was just bouncing from one scene and/or movie set to another without much cohesion and without enough intriguing narrative material, social commentary or entertainment value to make me feel like anything important was happening. It’s kind of surprising that I felt that way, given how many massive talents make up the case of this film, but with the exception of newcomer Alden Ehrenreich as the Gene Autry-esque Hobie, I thought all the other actors were either wasted (people like Jonah Hill and Frances McDormand only get one scene), just merely OK (Clooney and even Brolin) or mannered to the point of extreme irritation (I’m thinking of Ralph Fiennes, in particular, as Laurentz, whose line reciting scene with Hobie is aggravatingly repetitive and may forever have me recoil if I ever hear the phrase "would that it were so simple" again in my life).
Having said that, the production design of this film is pretty impressive, as it gives a great sense of time and place to 1951 Hollywood, with great replication of the aura of movie studios of the time and the related camera angles, visual filters, film set accouterments. Also, I do like the idea of seeing the creative process behind Hollywood studio film genres that were popular at the time, including expensive epics, westerns, musicals and fantasies with Busby Berkeley-style choreographed women in and out of water, and there are a couple of pretty funny scenes that pointed towards a better film, particularly the premiere of Lazy Ol’ Moon, a Western comedy about a drunken cowboy having slapstick accidents and blaming all his troubles in life on the full moon on display at night and an early scene when Eddie meets with a rabbi, a Protestant rector, a Catholic priest, and an Eastern Orthodox minister about the depiction of Jesus Christ in Hail, Caesar (the film within the film, of course), with the hopes to earn widespread religious support for the movie while balancing between all four religions’ different views of Jesus. Outside of those scenes, though, the rest of the movie drags, even at just over 100 minutes and there’s not enough punchiness to the script and the performers to make enough of the scenes work even nearly as well as those two highlights. Not to mention, as I said, I feel as if this is a film that everyone but me seems to understand the point of, and it’s not interesting enough to be entertained as I try to figure it out or to make me intrigued enough so that I even want to understand it, which is something that the Coens often do quite well, especially in the case of their great Inside Llewyn Davis (a film that, honestly, you can apply some of the same criticisms towards that I’m making on this one, but they fit that film’s narrative and characters much better so that it wasn’t a problem to me there). Maybe if this film went all the way at trying to be a style throwback (ala The Artist), was a series of unrelated vignettes (like Paris, Je T'aime, a collection of short subjects that the Coens contributed to) or just tinkered the script and direction to better emphasize its surrounding elements and players in relation to Eddie, I would have liked it more and gotten into it, but as it is, it’s probably the weakest film of the Coens so far (even more than The Ladykillers remake to me) and a waste of time, talent and money in my eyes.
Hello, My Name Is Doris
Every year, we get one or two low-budget independent comedy/drama hybrids that are led by an older and legendary actress and, in the worse cases of them, they seem like they’re specifically designed to attract older and/or less discerning viewers who wish they'd see said elder actress in more modern movies under the notion of “hey, I love ”insert famous actress’s name here” and I’ve missed not seeing her in anything recently, so this is certainly going to be great and I can’t possibly miss it!” Reading that, you may think I’m making an awfully mean and elitist statement that’s suggesting that I think such audience members are stupid and can’t discern the quality of a movie when it has a performer in it that they love, but in actuality, I’m saying that the movie thinks that, as does its creators and especially big Hollywood studios who pick up junky films like Hello, My Name Is Doris from a small film festivals (in this case, South By Southwest) and then, put it out for its target demographic to be suckered into seeing without showing any respect for their taste or intelligence (not to mention giving Hollywood an excuse to pretend that they're not disgustingly ageist regarding older actresses, even though they totally are).
Then again, I was also suckered in by this, because I love Sally Field and, after seeing her be the best part of the awful The Amazing Spider-Man 2, I was open to having her lead a new film, but not a tone-deaf, tonally schizophrenic, noncritical and insulting one like this. Field stars as Doris, a 60-something Staten Island data entry worker with a hoarding problem and a recently dead mother that she looked after for years. On her return to work after her mother’s death, she meets the company’s new and personable art director, John (played by New Girl’s Max Greenfield), who she becomes quickly smitten with and, after combination of an “I’m possible” mantra of a motivational speaker (Peter Gallagher) and some assistance from her lifelong friend, Roz (Tyne Daly) and Roz’s technologically savvy granddaughter, Doris tries to go after him romantically, despite her age. Meanwhile, Doris’s brother is getting on her case for her hoarding and insistence to continue living in their mother’s house and, despite gaining more social acceptance than she expected in her pursuit of John, there are details about him that complicate things.
What I can say in favor of this movie is that Sally Field is doing what she can in the lead role and, for a few scenes, the film is approaching its intended mix of authentic human interaction and semi-broad comedy, particularly from the byplay between Doris and Roz (where Field and Tyne Daly are quite good and have believable chemistry as these lifelong friends) and Doris and the granddaughter and also, in a few scenes that acknowledge and attempt to subvert some of the tropes of stories like this. Too bad, then, that the script by Michael Showalter (who also directed this) is mostly free of laughs and insight while being mostly full of ugly condescension and hypocrisy, particularly regarding Doris. Even though she’s supposed to the character we’re intended to feel for, the movie is mostly making fun of her, as it broadly draws her as a pitiable quiet and shy reclusive cat lady who can't let go emotionally or physically and makes her the butt of an endless parade of cheap and mean-spirited jokes about her age and personality... that is, until the inevitable and totally dishonest scene where she cries and opens herself up about her feelings about everything up to that point.
This movie really wants to have it both ways about every part of it, to the point where, even with that poorly prepared for and preachy third-act pathos, not only do we not buy it on its own (especially since the film totally glosses over the guts of her related psychological issues and hoarding), but we also don’t feel for Doris because, as much as the movie seems to have it out for her, she herself commits a pretty unconscionable and unforgivable action against someone that destroys our sympathy for her (also, it’s completely unrealistic regarding its connection to Facebook, as that plot point is not how Facebook works). Even worse, the movie refuses to call Doris out on it and, without giving too much away, justifies it by abruptly changing into a feminist lecture by painting John as “an emotionally limited little boy,” which he admittingly is, but not for the reason the film is arguing. Furthermore, there aren’t a whole lot of laughs here, the scenes with her becoming an unexpected fashion/music inspiration are pushy and needlessly vulgar in ways that don’t match the rest of the film and, by the movie’s unwillingness to commit to its more serious subjects in favor of quickly and unrealistically wrapping everything up to have a semi-happy ending, it’s really betraying and spitting in the face of its premise and its target audience, which deserve better than this. The film, to be fair, isn’t total junk, but I think that’s worse here, since it had the chance to be something special and also, given how angry its rank cynicism made me (and still does as I now think back on it).
Independence Day: Resurgence
Remember Roland Emmerich’s Independence Day? Well, if you don’t, it was a big-budget 1996 alien invasion/B science fiction movie that, for its time, was a gusty, unique and memorable exercise that, despite its higher focus on spectacle and mass destruction special effects than plot and character development, had a tangible energy, forward momentum and sense of urgency that still makes it a fun watch, along with giving us just enough investment in its appealing cast of characters to keep us involved. Also, if you don’t remember that movie, rest assured that its debatably “long-awaited” sequel, Independence Day: Resurgence, will be reminding you of that 20-year-old hit every 3 or so minutes, to the point where you’ll wish you could smack the movie and tell it to shut up already. Sadly, that obsession with the original film epitomizes everything that’s wrong with this rehashed and pathetic nostalgia-milking sequel, which is content with just hitting all the bulletpoints of its predecessor, but without adding anything new or doing anything old well, making it a waste of time and money that’s even more inexcusable in a summer that also gave us a great decade plus sequel in Finding Dory, which, unlike this, captured the qualities of its preceding film, while also expanding upon and even improving it.
The plot takes place 20 years after the original movie and has the aliens that ravaged Earth coming back to unleash a massive superweapon. For some reason, now ex-President Whitmore (Bill Pullman) knew they were coming back, but everyone else didn’t, so most of the characters look to him for assistance here, including many returning characters from the original like David Levinson (Jeff Goldblum), David’s father, Julius (Judd Hirsch), General Gray (the late Robert Loggia) and Dr. Brakish Okun (Brent Spiner). Will Smith’s Steve Hiller is dead now (because he signed onto Suicide Squad instead, and we all know how good a decision that turned out to be), but his wife Jasmine (Vivica A. Fox) is still around and now, their son Dylan (Jessie T. Usher) is grown up and is fighting against the aliens alongside President Whitmore’s now grown daughter, Patricia (Maika Monroe) and her fiancé, Jake (Liam Hemsworth).
So, it’s basically the same film as it was 20 years ago, but now, we get a “where are they now” perspective on some of the characters along with it and, to be fair, I do like that most of the cast is back (aside from Smith and, for that matter, Ross Bagley and Mae Whitman, who played Dylan and Patricia in the original, respectively; would it really have been that hard to get them back, too?), but they all just seem tired and uninteresting this time around, and their delivery of the plot exposition and the lighter moments are forced, awkward, desperate and lack the knowing verve that served the first one well (same goes for the new characters, who are mostly just a grab bag of dull stereotypes). Also, the story lacks the urgency of the first film and stretches itself out too much with its incoherent subplots which, unlike the original, makes the lack of development of the aliens here impossible to ignore or forgive.
You might be thinking, “OK, the plot and characters aren’t great, but the action and destruction will pick up the slack, right?” Wrong. Although we do see places like Paris, China and London get annihilated, it lacks the weight, investment in the characters and the surprise that made similar scenes work so well in the original (like the “what about Boomer?” moment here, which was way better in 1996) and, though the special effects for them look OK, they’re all boring and feel like they’re trying to make lighting strike twice which, ironically, only reminds how better they were before and makes them even worse here. I guess if you loved Independence Day and need to have more of it, this won’t hurt you too much, but that’s far from a ringing endorsement and honestly, why did we need this movie? Was it just to make a quick buck off of our nostalgia and so Emmerich could try and make us forget he made Stonewall? Based on the results, it seems like it, but thankfully, this tanked at the box office so, despite its insultingly presumptuous sequel-baiting, chances are good we won’t see an Independence Day 3 in 2036… or ever.
Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children
Tim Burton dodged a bullet by not directing Alice Through The Looking Glass, but that was nullified by him diving directly into the path of another bullet with the movie he did direct this year; Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children. Let’s face facts, people; Burton may have undeniable style and talent and he may have made great films like Batman, Ed Wood and his last masterpiece, the nearly decade-old Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber Of Fleet Street, but he’s one of the most inconsistent filmmakers who still has a fandom (and, as Dark Shadows and Alice In Wonderland proved, that goodwill is clearly starting to run out) and, as great as his career highlights are, his increasing number of lowlights are often a special form of painful and inexplicable junk that are bad enough to nearly obscure his past successes. Of the films I’ve seen of Burton’s, I’d be hard-pressed to think of one worse than this ugly, endless, empty, pathetic and incomprehensible disaster that’s both the most obvious sign that Burton’s hit rock bottom and the most unpleasant supposed family-fantasy film since last year’s disastrous Pan.
The movie is based on the Ransom Riggs novel about a Florida teenager named Jake (Asa Butterfield), an isolated recluse whose only true friend seems to be his grandfather Abe (Terrance Stamp), a World War II veteran who told him stories as a youth about a home in Wales for children with unique and societally peculiar traits. Jake’s father, Franklin (Chris O’Dowd), didn’t like Abe that much doesn’t believe his stories, but Jake kind of does and is more convinced when Abe has his eyes ripped out and is killed by a white-eyed man named Barron (Samuel L. Jackson) that Abe claimed was going to eventually threaten the lives of the children at the home, as well as their shapeshifting and omniscient caretaker, Miss Peregrine (Eva Green). After being given Abe’s old journal that specifies where Miss Peregrine and the house are located, Jake wants to go to Wales to find it, which his parents reluctantly agree to when Jake’s therapist suggests it could help his mental state after his grandfather’s death. Franklin accompanies Jake, seeing it as a good opportunity to ditch his grieving son and do some birdwatching for himself (that’s grade A parenting right there), while Jake, against all odds, finds the house and meets both Peregrine and the strange children there, a girl who can control fire, a boy whose body is basically an active beehive, a boy with the power of invisibility, a girl with a carnivorous mouth on the back of her head and, most notably, Emma (Ella Purnell), an air-bender light enough to float away if she doesn’t wear mental boots who remembers Abe and who is drawn to his young grandson. Jake soon finds out that the house and its inhabitants live in a time loop that keeps repeating the same two days in 1943, as Miss Peregrine keeps turning back the clock just before the house is about to get bombed by German planes, but he also finds out that the warnings of Abe about Barron were true, as Barron and his cronies are seeking the children because their eyeballs help give them immortality when they eat them. As such, Jake leads the children in a battle against Barron to protect them and allow the children to control their use of the time loops to allow them and, by extension, Jake, to have a safe future.
You’d think a story like that would be a slam dunk with Burton at the helm, since it’s packing many of the themes and subject matter that we often associate with his work, including strange/socially ostracized characters with otherworldly abilities, social commentary against bad parenting and the idealized idea of what life in suburbia should be like, and macabre subject matter and imagery with a genesis in German expressionism. In fact, for that reason alone, I know some defenders of this movie have considered this a “return to form” with echoes of Beetlejuice and especially Edward Scissorhands. However, outside of a few of the supporting performances (Terrance Stamp and Allison Janney) and the film’s technically sound and time period appropriate production design (the latter of which doesn’t really count as a positive, since Burton can do that in his sleep), there’s none of the bizarre intrigue, resonance or joy that we’d expect to get out of a film like this and it all feels so aggressively repellent and uninteresting. The plot, despite my synopsis, is mostly insultingly incomprehensible babble that overexplains everything while somehow, never making anything about the time loops and twisted antagonists make sense, the characters of Miss Peregrine and the children generally have no personalities or development outside of their one defining trait, the bond between Jake and Emma is empty, poorly developed and awkward (especially their needless and contrived love story, which comes about from Emma transferring her feelings for the young version of Abe onto Jake), the father-son relationship between Jake and Franklin is unbelievable and, at times, rage-including (the horrible, yet one-dimensional and pushy character and Chris O’Dowd’s awful performance as Franklin adds to that) and there are plot holes everywhere.
I guess the latter is to be expected in a time-travel fantasy movie, but even by its own logic, the time loop material raises big veracity questions, as does the fact that Miss Peregrine somehow is unable to know about specific threats against her and the children, even though Jake and the audience are told by the children that “she knows everything,” even before they happen. In addition, there’s some really lame and horribly out-of-place stabs at humor (including the beat-boxing punks that’s as much of a tonal whiplash as the licensed songs from Pan), the acting is flat by most everyone involved and the darker elements of the story don’t add anything meaningful to it and come off as just gross and boundary-pushing for the sake of being gross and boundary-pushing, especially the stuff with the eyeball eating, which I had enough of seeing happen once in The Neon Demon this year, let alone multiple times here, and in a movie intended for families, no less (yeah, this being a “family film” is a real joke). If you’re a Burton fan/apologist, you may still want to check this one out, but I don’t think you’ll like it and, for everyone else, watch any of Burton’s good films instead. Actually, just see any of his other movies, because they’re all better than this, and yes, that does include his now second worst film, Mars Attacks.
Money Monster
Three months before Hell Or High Water came out and gave us a great drama about the current American economic malaise and the way it can drive people to crime, we had director Jodie Foster’s stab at a similar idea with Money Monster. I was curious about this one, given big names like George Clooney, Julia Roberts, Giancarlo Esposito and Dominic West in the cast and especially since Foster's past films behind the camera showed her ability to dive into the guts of real-world issues and come out with pretty impressive complexity, clarity and understanding about them, my favorite being her deeply underrated 2011 look at psychological and mental issues in a family and marriage, The Beaver. Unfortunately, this is just a dull, simplistic, ridiculous, pedantic and slanted political lecture about “income inequality” and how it hurts lower class citizens, but, at best, it’s not smart or interesting enough about it to entertain, help us empathize with and psychologically explore the complexities and situations of said people’s frustrations or change any minds, and at worst, its significant failures and illogical elements unintentionally reveal the significant and fatal fallacies of that entire concept.
George Clooney stars as Lee Gates, the host of the top-rated cable TV financial show, Money Monster, which has him delivering flashy and easily presentable, yet apparently economically in-depth and credible analysis/advice regarding the stock market, company financial patterns and good stock buys (if you’ve ever seen CNBC’s Mad Money, hosted by Jim Cramer, this is basically the exact same thing). On today’s show, he’s planning to discuss the Ibis corporation, a company that he once called a safe buy, that has now seen its stock price plummet, resulting in the company and its shareholders losing $800 million. Lee is planning on interviewing the company’s CEO, Walt Camby (Dominic West), but he cancels on them, so Lee’s seemingly dedicated studio director, Patty Fenn (Julia Roberts), quickly books Diane Lester (Caitriona Balfe), Ibis’s newest CCO. After the show starts, a strange delivery boy walks onto the stage, pulls a gun on Lee and forces him to put on a bomb vest that the man will detonate live on national TV if Lee and the crew don’t follow his orders, which include them keeping the cameras rolling. The man, a working-class millennial named Kyle Budwell (Jack O'Connell), claims that he’s doing this because he saw Lee’s tip about Ibis stock being a good buy, which ultimately resulted in Kyle’s entire life savings being wiped out. When news of the hostage situation gets out, the police and SWAT team arrive, led by Marcus Powell (Giancarlo Esposito), to try and bring it to a non-lethal conclusion, while Lee follows Kyle’s demands as he and Patty try and think of a way to escape. Meanwhile, after news of the crisis and its connection to Ibis reaches Diane, she begins to dig deeper into what’s really going on in the company, including investigating the algorithms that were claimed to have caused the stock crashed like it did and trying to find and get answers out of Camby, who claims to be on a plane from Geneva and can’t be reached.
So, the movie is a hostage thriller where the social commentary is provided by Kyle, whose argument boils down to the usual lines about how the 1% on Wall Street and in big corporations are able to lazily get rich while screwing good and hard-working people like him who are still struggling to survive on the minimum wage they make. The first issue with the film’s argument is that, in the world of this movie, the minimum wage that Kyle and others like him make is $14. That’s the same amount that, in the real world, it’s often argued that the minimum wage needs to be raised to in order to allow people like Kyle to have a decent living without having to suffer, but clearly, he still is struggling and he and the movie are still arguing that it’s not enough. Second, even with Kyle’s plight, I never got enough of a sense that he’s really at the end of his rope or that I could understand his point of view or the desperation that led to him being ready to kill for economic satisfaction and compensation. Part of this has to do with the script, which, with the exception of a scene where Kyle’s girlfriend, rightly, tells him off for his own bad choices and mismanagement with their money that also played a role in his downfall, blindly deifies Kyle with no pushback on his entitled, elitist and empty self-righteous platitudes (which are just as bad to me as the worst examples of the 1%ers he’s decrying), and the other part has to do with the Razzie-worthy performance by Jack O'Connell, with his embarrassingly mannered speech patterns and expressions (including that eternal gaping) that show him trying way too hard to be authentic, tragic and manic. As such, I don’t care about Kyle, I don’t side with him and I see him as a black and white eternal victim who, with no gray areas to him here, is just using his stock loss as a scapegoat for his own personal failings.
As far as Lee, Patty, and the TV crew, aside from the brief opening and some brief and quickly ditched asides about Patty potentially looking for another job, we don’t learn enough about them to get invested in seeing them live or die and, despite this top-flight cast, all of them, including leads Clooney and Roberts, are just OK and lack the crackle that I know they can bring and that director Foster is often good at helping to bring out. Speaking of the direction, it’s pretty flat and lacks tension, while the action scenes aren’t gripping, the gaps in logic with the show being continually broadcast during the crisis and the attempts at police involvement are too large to ignore and, ultimately, don’t add anything to the story, the film’s portrayal of its Russian and Asian characters is kind of racist and hateful (I guess those are the two ethnic groups you’re still allowed to bigotedly stereotype without any consequence in the movies nowadays), the stabs at feminism with Diane and Patty are rushed through and too on-the-nose.
And then, there’s the tone of the film. It’s clearly supposed to be a mostly serious drama/thriller, but we also get this weird and out of place attempt at humor, which was a terrible miscalculation, as they clash badly with the rest of the film and aren’t funny, the worst of which has to be the sex scene (yeah, I was taken back by that, too) which is the most needless and gratuitous one in recent major movie history. In the film’s slight defense, it’s not an unwatchable disaster and it is short enough, but given the talent of Foster as a filmmaker in the past, the cast and the great potential of looking at the American economic system with depth and intrigue, while wrapping it in a familiar movie narrative shell, this really should have turned out better than it did and, especially in a year that delivered the definitive example of that concept in Hell Or High Water, the failure of Money Monster is even more obvious and unacceptable.
Rules Don’t Apply
This long-time passion project of co-writer/director/star Warren Beatty (who last directed a theatrical film with 1998’s Bulworth and last starred in a movie in 2001’s Town & Country) is a hybrid of a Howard Hughes dramatic biopic and a golden age Hollywood-style love triangle romantic comedy… and it’s also the only other 2016 movie aside from The Boss that I gave a 0 star review to. You’d think that would have guaranteed it a spot in to the worst 10 list, but it didn’t for three reasons; first, as horrible as this movie is (and it is), it didn’t anger me quite as much as the other 19 films I highlighted, second, I’ve actually already forgotten about it, despite seeing it less than a month ago, and third, this self-indulgent epitome of Hollywood legend narcissism and talent wasting has already publicly answered for its crimes against cinematic humanity by having the worst opening weekend of any major release in 2016 and becoming a well-deserved box-office flop. So, yeah, I’m technically showing some mercy to this one, but it’s still such a uniquely uninteresting, terrible and kind of ugly film completely lacking in intrigue, involving story/characters, perspective and even halfway decent filmmaking that I need to deal with it.
Beatty stars as Howard Hughes, the Hollywood billionaire circa 1958, when his eccentricities, obsession with barely-legal contract starlets and obsessive compulsive disorder were approaching the boiling point. Enter Marla Mabrey (Lily Collins), a fictionalized religious young woman who comes to Hollywood to attempt to become a movie star under Hughes who is continually given the runaround, as is Hughes’ new limo driver, Frank Forbes (Alden Ehrenreich). The two fall in love, breaking Hughes’ rule forbidding his contract actresses from dating his other employees, resulting in their strained relationship, especially after Hughes seduces Marla and forms a love-triangle that changes by the minute because of how psychologically messed up Hughes is. I’ll give the movie this; the idea of taking a larger than life real-world figure like Howard Hughes and connecting his true story to those of fictitious characters isn’t bad and, with Beatty directing it and having such a star-studded cast, including supporting players like Annette Benning, Matthew Broderick, Ed Harris, Candice Bergen, Martin Sheen, Oliver Platt, Paul Sorvino, and Dabney Coleman, this sure sounded good on paper.
Yet, by making a movie about Howard Hughes, Beatty is directly inviting a comparison with The Aviator, Martin Scorsese’s now seemly forgotten and underrated 2004 film also about Hughes that had the verve, investment and craft that’s completely missing here. True, this movie is telling a different story about Hughes than Scorsese did, but both Beatty the director and Beatty the actor fail to make it even halfway interesting, because the movie pathetically and repetitively keeps hammering us over the head with his crazy nature, while providing no attitude about him at all. Basically, the film uses Hughes’ condition to justify its abrupt tonal shifts between its empty and surface human drama, its desperate, unfunny and, in terms of mining Hughes’ paranoia for laughs, cruel comedy and its supposedly whimsical moments that are embarrassing at best and, at worst, skin-crawlingly creepy (I’m sorry, but seeing the 27-year-old Lily Collins having sex with the now 79-year-old Beatty, while the movie has no perspective about it, just made me feel dirty). Regarding the fictional characters, Frank and Marla’s relationship totally lacks chemistry, passion or plausibility and their bonds to Hughes only mean that they constantly have the same shocked and/or disgusted reaction shots to him and his exploits, none of which are funny and none of which work as interesting or credible drama, especially when they still stand by Hughes when he completely goes off the deep end.
The film’s story and character development issues also aren’t helped by perhaps the year’s worst editing (scenes just randomly and abruptly stop before shifting to the next), the glacial pacing that makes the over 2 hour running time feel like an eternity, the overdone low-key lighting, the horrible plane CG/special effects, some pretty obvious discrepancies regarding the time period and the religious angle of Marla and her mother (they’re Baptist, but they say grace in one scene using "Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts, which we're about to receive from thy bounty," which is a Catholic prayer; oops) and the really flat performances from this totally wasted cast. Seriously, there’s not one single redeemable aspect about this movie to even justify it as an eventual video rental or Netflix watch, so do what most everyone else did regarding it in theaters, completely ignore it, watch The Aviator and, then, forget this ever came out.
OK, we’re done with the worst of 2016. Come back next time for the best!
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